Last Chance
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: She wasn't perfect, just perfect for him. Dick's new girlfriend is really something special, but that little fact turns out to be a surprise to her as well. Love & laughter follow. AU. Also ANGST/H/C. T for language, violence, suggestive (sexual) material/innuendo.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

"It's official, dude," Wally glanced over towards the driver. "You've turned into Batman."

The statement yanked Dick out of his thoughts and back into the present. He glanced away from the road long enough to send a questioning look at his best friend and passenger, Wally West.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wally slurped his 44 oz. soda. "It means that you're brooding . . . Again."

Again? Dick sighed. He couldn't help it. Ever since he and Babs had broken up this last time, he just couldn't seem to shake the funk that had come over him. Always, there had been something holding them back, keeping their relationship from progressing onward. The last argument had been an ongoing one they had had throughout their stormy, on again/off again relationship: his constant need to seek Bruce's or Batman's approval.

"Sorry, Wally. I know what with all the changes in our lives we don't get the opportunity to just hang out together like we used to, and now I'm ruining it."

Wally turned concerned eyes toward his companion. There was a line creasing Dick's brow that hadn't been there the last time he had seen him. "I wouldn't go so far as to say you're ruining it, but you do seem to be down this time. What's up?"

"It's nothing, really. I promise to do better," he said, reaching over and turning on the radio. Music poured out of the speakers, loud enough to prevent easy conversation.

Wally reached over and turned it off.

_Damn it!_ He sighed. He and Wally didn't get to see each other often enough, and Dick didn't want to screw up their time together up by talking about his problems.

"Dick, come on. It's me, here." Wally turned in his seat as far as his seat belt would allow. "We've always been able to talk about anything."

"It's . . . It's nothing."

"Spill it, hunk wonder," Wally teased.

"Don't call me that!" Dick snapped.

Wally blinked. It was an ongoing joke between them. Girls seemed to adore Dick and his alter ego, Robin; especially since he had gone through puberty. Wally had often teased his friend that it was those hot pants he used to wear with his Robin costume that made the girls swoon every time he swooped in to save them. Although, as Nightwing, he still managed to find more than his fair share of swooning damsels.

"Ah, woman troubles, eh?"

Dick's lips whitened as his mouth tightened. "Babs troubles."

"Wait, what? Did you two got back together again?" Wally knew that the couple had split up eight months ago. This last time had been particularly hard as Barbara had returned Dick's ring. Wally respected the woman who had been Batgirl, and was now making her mark against criminals as Oracle, a kind of all-purpose superhero information hotline, since losing her legs to one of Joker's bullets. Unfortunately, she also seemed to throw Dick's life upside down time and time again.

"No, we didn't." The statement was made flat and unemotional, but the tic was visible as Dick clenched and unclenched his jaw.

"Dick." Wally sighed. "Maybe you should just let her go this time. It's been eight months! If she were the right one for you, she wouldn't be putting you through hell every other year."

"We just have to work through a couple of issues . . ."

"Dude, look. There will always be issues. You don't give a guy back his ring every time a new one crops up."

"It's an old one this time," Dick offered. "My fault, really. Something that I need to fix. Once I can manage that, we'll get back together and everything will be perfect."

"Your fault? It's not that thing about Bruce again, is it?" Disgusted, Wally looked out the window, but the view was wasted on him when his friend was hurting.

"She has a point, Wally, and you know it. I need to grow up and start living my life without worrying about what Bruce, or Batman, might think of me. I'm a grown man, and yet I apparently still have 'daddy' issues."

Angry, Wally swung back around. "'Daddy' issues? Seriously? That's what she said? The man took you in when you were eight after seeing your own parents killed. He raised you, trained you, made you his partner and his heir, and finally adopted you as his own son! Not that you haven't been exactly that from day one . . . It isn't wrong of you to want Bruce's approval, or for you to want to make him proud! I still look for Uncle Barry's approval, too! I think Barbara has a problem with Bruce and with Batman, for whatever reason, and wants to come between the two of you as a result!"

Wally watched Dick's eyes widen and his jaw clenched once more. _Shit!_ Did he really say that out loud? It's been something he had thought for a long time, but never had the nerve to say before. He knew Dick had been in love with Barbara since high school, and he also knew that criticizing a guy's girlfriend is a surefire way to destroy their own relationship. So for selfish reasons, Wally had always bitten his tongue on this particular issue. It was a no-win scenario for sure.

"That can't be it," Dick exclaimed. "She works with him too closely. This is all about me."

Now Wally's jaw was clenching. "Stop it! This isn't about you. Look, you and Bruce have had problems enough. You two are finally speaking to one another again. You've been happier than you have been in years since the two of you have come to terms. And then Barbara suddenly dumps you, claiming Bruce has too strong a hold on you, and you can't be your own man! No, Dick. She's the one who has the problem, not you."

"She still loves me, though," Dick whispered. "I can work this out. I know I can."

Seeing the shine in his friend's eyes, Wally took a breath and forced himself to calm down. "Look, maybe you're right. Maybe she still loves you, but I can't help but think that she hates Bruce more."

Shocked, Dick stared at him a moment. A car horn blared, and he was suddenly swerving back into his own lane. This was too dangerous, Dick thought, pulling over into a parking lot. He was going to get them both killed trying to talk about this while driving.

"She doesn't hate Bruce," he insisted, pulling to a stop.

"Fine! Maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely has a problem with him. And as long as she does, she's going to expect you to have one with him also." Wally reached over and grabbed Dick's hand. "I saw what those years of not talking to Bruce did to you. It also kept you away from Tim and Alfred. Now, there is Damian to consider as well. Is it right or fair of her to demand you put a barrier between you and the rest of your family for her sake alone? Is that really love when it is so selfish it cannot share you with the most important people in your life?"

One lone tear balanced precariously on the edge of his lash, finally falling when Dick blinked. Wally bit the inside of his cheek. It had been a long time since he had seen Dick cry. He wondered how long it had been since his friend had allowed himself to do so in front of another person. Wally didn't think it was possible for Dick to change so drastically from the sensitive, sweet kid he had been when the two of them had first met. And he hadn't changed really, just become more private over the last few years.

"What has Bruce said about all of this? I assumed you've talked with him about it, or maybe to Alfred . . ."

"I haven't talked with him about it other than to tell him that we broke up."

"What did he say to that?" Wally was curious. Being the other side of the issue, he wondered what Bruce had to say about Barbara.

Dick shrugged. "Nothing. You know Bruce. He just nodded and grunted, acknowledging the fact, and then continued on as if nothing had changed."

When it came to Dick, Wally knew that Bruce wasn't generally a hands-off kind of guy. The man had an opinion, but for some reason he was keeping it to himself. _Perhaps,_ Wally thought, _he felt the same fear that I have had; of saying something critical about Barbara, and losing Dick because of it._

"Alfred?"

"Alfred's been surprisingly mum about it as well."

"You can't just sit here and wait," Wally pleaded. "You'll stagnate. You have to move on whether you want to or not. It's been eight months since you and Babs broke up this last time. Have you been out with anyone since then?"

Dick gave a watery laugh. "No, but crime's been down in Bludhaven."

Wally laughed in spite of himself. He punched Dick in the arm lightly. "You know what you need?"

Dick looked at him suspiciously. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You need to get laid."

All the tension drained out of the car as both men burst out laughing.

"I know this girl . . ."

Dick held up his hand, still laughing. "Stop! I don't want to hear anything else. But . . . but maybe you're right."

Wally perked up at that, grinning. It wasn't often that he was right. "I am? Ah, about what, exactly?"

"I _should_ start dating again," Dick admitted, hesitantly.

"Good for you! But promise me something first."

Dick frowned. "Yeah, okay. What's that?"

"No redheads!"


	2. The Serenade

**DISCLAIMER: The song, My Funny Valentine, is a show tune written by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart for the musical Babes in Arms. I do NOT own this song! I just thought it would be a fun way to enhance the story. Look it up, if you've never heard it before. **

Chapter 1: THE SERENADE

"Would you care for dinner this evening, sir?"

Dick Grayson smiled in greeting to his waiter as he sat at his usual table. He'd been coming every Thursday to Chez Donovan for the past five weeks, ever since he had first seen _her_. Dick perused the menu. He didn't eat every time he came because the restaurant was rather expensive. Of course, the food was truly excellent and the service impressive, thus deserving its higher prices . . .

"The grilled Ora King Salmon with a glass of Pinot Noir, please," Dick handed the waiter his menu.

"A very good choice, sir."

The man was about to walk away when Dick caught his sleeve. "She's singing tonight, isn't she?"

The waiter smiled. "Yes sir. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday."

He had shown up last night, only to be disappointed when another singer had appeared – not that the other woman wasn't talented; it was just that she wasn't _her_. He had left after being assured he should come back tonight.

Since the restaurant's recent remodel, business was booming. Of course, one of the changes made was the live entertainment and brand-new dance floor. Dick had brought a date the first time he had come, shortly after it had reopened. Wanting to impress his date, he had bandied Bruce's name to get reservations and an excellent table.

Her name had been Sandra, or maybe Cheryl, something or another; a tall blonde with rather risqué tastes in clothes. At the time, Dick appreciated the short, skin-tight dress that shimmered in fascinating ways as she moved, but that was _before_ the entertainment began. He was still more than a little embarrassed that he had so totally forgotten the woman he had brought with him. It had been inexcusable of him, and of course the date had deteriorated after that. When the singer had paused for a break after an hour, he had been surprised to find himself alone. The waiter had had to inform him that his date had left in a cab twenty minutes earlier. Dick had learned from his mistake, however. Every time since then, he had come alone.

The meal was superb, as usual, and after ordering another glass of wine, Dick leaned back in his chair. This was becoming a rather expensive obsession of his. The orchestra had been playing throughout the dinner, but now it was ten o'clock and the real show was about to begin.

He wiped his hands on his pants. It was nuts, but he was nervous enough that his palms were sweating. He had never spoken to her; never even called attention to himself. Dick only ever sat and listened, but for the past few times he had come to see her, his heart started pounding in the moments before she took the stage and butterflies invaded his stomach. Tonight was no different with the exception that the feelings were, if possible, even more intense!

Brian Donovan, the restaurant/club owner, stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you tonight's spectacular entertainment. Please help me to welcome to the stage Miss Arabella Hamilton!"

Miss Hamilton had been headlining a few nights a week, apparently only for the last three months, but already she had a following. The audience welcomed her to the stage with enthusiastic applause. Dick reminded himself to remain seated. This was a very upscale place, and the management probably wouldn't be amused if he jumped to his feet, whistling like the pathetic fanboy he had become.

As had happened every time she had appeared, Arabella took his breath away. He was unaware of his jaw dropping. Every time he saw her, she was even more beautiful than the last. Time slowed, and the restaurant and its patrons faded away. His world consisted only of his table and Arabella on the stage, as if she were performing exclusively for him.

He didn't know why he hadn't approached her. He had never really been shy before. Hell, he had been raised in a circus until he was almost nine years old; performing nearly every night with his parents on the trapeze since he was six. He had eaten up the attention as only a performer could. But staring at her up there in all her poised grace and beauty . . . He felt as though he were a humble acolyte in the presence of his goddess. He took another sip of his wine to assuage his sudden attack of dry mouth. The ridiculousness of his situation was not lost on him, but that didn't alter the fact that she affected him.

Arabella Hamilton was average in height, barely topping 5'4", but that was likely the only thing about her that could be described as average. Her long, dark brown hair tonight was gathered up near her crown; the loose curls cascading down past her shoulders, soft tendrils framing her oval face. Her eyes were large and dark, but that was all he could tell from this distance. An elegant, sloping nose topped a wide mouth with full, shapely lips. The strapless gown she wore was stunning; a deep bold red that warmed her skin and accentuated her lush curves. Not slender was she, but rather just shy of voluptuous. Dick couldn't tell if she were athletic or not from here. There wasn't any sign of the muscle definition that had graced most of the girlfriends he had had, like Babs or Kori. It had dawned on him recently that the vast majority of women he had relationships with were not simply athletic, but crime fighters much like himself.

Her mouth opened, and all thoughts fell out of his mind as if someone had opened a door and all the clutter had fallen out until nothing was left but her voice. His last thought was that this must be her super power.

* * *

Arabella Hamilton had never really experienced stage fright before. Sure, she felt a little nervous excitement before she walked out before an audience, but this was different. Her palms were actually sweating! She decided to wear a wireless headset tonight rather than risk dropping the microphone because of clammy hands. Her heart was pounding, her stomach felt like a flock of sparrows had roosted there, and she felt breathless; not a good thing for a singer to experience!

And it was all _his_ fault . . .

She peeked out again, her eyes searching out his usual table. His suit was dark and impeccably tailored. If he didn't have money, he was still used to the finer things in life. His tie was the bright, intense blue. She liked its touch. The happy color kept him from seeming too serious; hinting at the possible presence of a sense of humor. While _that _was one of the most important characteristics in a person to her, but it certainly was not the only thing that attracted her! This guy was also the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, and that was saying something!

His masculinity practically reached out to surround her even where she hid behind the curtain. It was there in the breadth of his shoulders and width of his chest, but it was also almost a palpable thing as well. As if she could reach out a hand to touch it. His dark hair could use a haircut, but she liked it like this. It made him less fussy and more approachable. She had been surrounded for most of her life by the GQ-type; the professional, metrosexual man. While she appreciated a well-groomed man as much as the next woman, those who were more obsessed with fashion and appearances than she was left her with a vague impression of spinelessness.

She had first noticed him several weeks ago when the woman he had come with made a bit of an angry show of leaving in the middle of her performance. Daniel, the couple's waiter, had told them that the man had apparently hadn't even noticed it at the time. He had had the good grace to blush, however, when Daniel had informed him of her departure nearly a half an hour later, but Elle felt relieved when Daniel had assured her that the woman had grumbled that he had been the worst date she had ever had.

_So_ . . . Elle had thought, pleased in spite of the woman's words. _He was single_ . . .

He came every Thursday, sat at the same table near the front, and didn't leave until after her show was over. He never brought another date with him; never asked another woman to dance. He would occasionally have dinner, but sometimes he merely nursed a drink all evening. And stared at her . . .

Maybe she should feel alarmed by that; potential stalker and all, but instead she felt . . . flattered. Attractive. Thrilled . . . and alive!

With her background, one would think that such attention would be accepted as her normal due. The daughter of one of Chicago's most powerful and wealthy businessmen, she had had her fair share of so-called "dates". But they were men that her father or brother had hand-chosen to escort her to an event. Sometimes she was being introduced to that night's escort when he came to pick her up. Their conversations were flat. The men talked only about themselves, business, or either her father or brother. Every single one of them were more interested in impressing her relatives than in Elle as a person. Occasionally, there would be a man who would feign interest, but she had never been fooled, mostly because of the glazed look in his eyes when she began talking about her love of music, her desire to get out of Chicago, and to earn her own way. She was always dropped back off at the end of the evening at her father's apartment with a business-like handshake.

It had taken her a long time to convince her father to allow her an opportunity to get out on her own; to prove she could be successful without his assistance. It was why she had come to Bludhaven. The city was close enough to Chicago that her father wouldn't have a heart attack, but far enough away that she felt at least a modicum of independence. What would be even better would be if, every time she stepped out of her apartment building, she didn't see one of her father's vehicles with either one or both of her personal bodyguards inside.

Her eyes glanced toward the back of the restaurant, to a corner table near the kitchen, and sure enough, there they both were. Edward and Hugh had been with her since her mother had died when she was seven. They were like family, but like her father, they tended to hover and Elle wished they would go back to Chicago.

Wiping her hands off on the curtain, Elle prepared to take the stage as her boss and friend, Brian Donovan, introduced her. Her eyes strayed back to the man who was the source of her current nervousness. He sat up and set his wineglass down.

Oh yes, he was interested. A voice in her head wondered if he were a record producer, interested only in how many records she might be able to sell. That idea was at once flattering and depressing because Elle was interested in him as well. Just not in a business sense.

He was the first man that _she_ had ever been interested in, in her whole life. She was twenty-three years old, so that was actually saying something. He had never made a move, however. Never sent her a note, a song request, or flowers; never asked to be introduced, nor even asked if she were single or not. And Elle was getting tired of waiting. She wasn't the type of woman who made the first move, though. She remembered her grandmother, a very wise, Italian woman, once telling her that if she pursued the man, then she would never be entirely certain of his affections. Was he too polite to refuse her offer? Was he merely alleviating his boredom until something better came along? No, she said, it was far better to allow the man to pursue her.

Men were elemental creatures who, like animals, reveled in the hunt. The more difficult the pursuit of his objective, the more valuable she would become to him; the more fascinating she would be. At least that was the advice her grandmother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Of course, then again, the old woman had never met such a frustrating man as the one whom Elle found herself currently obsessing over.

Determination washed over her. Elle was nothing if not a problem solver. She would compromise without relaxing her beliefs. She would give him a sign that she was interested in him, and then place the ball firmly in his court. And wait . . . She hated waiting, but she would do it because apparently all this waiting she had been doing for the past five weeks had made this man seem all that more valuable and fascinating to her . . . Damn it!

She smiled widely because she loved what she was doing, and because _he_ was watching her. She waved her hand to the applauding audience and moved center stage as the band began playing the first few bars to the intro of her song. Her eyes strayed back to him of their own accord, as they would likely do the entirety of the evening. He was alert and yet relaxed. He was smiling back at her. He looked happy to see her; to listen to her sing, and _that _made her way too happy to be safe.

* * *

Reporter Maria Sanchez stood near the back of the restaurant preparing to do the fluff piece that would give Chez Donovan some great publicity. Her cameraman, Bart, was panning around the room looking for good angles. They had been treated to dinner on the house. It was delicious, but the prices were a bit stiff for the average Joe to afford on a regular basis. Still, not so high that an evening here wouldn't be a terrific splurge for a special occasion.

The restaurant now sported a stage with a small orchestra or band that provided live music during dinner, but at ten o'clock, the kitchen closed, the plates borne away by super efficient staff, and the lights lowered in preparation of the real show. Every night there was a singer to entertain those who wished to enjoy great music, and the dance floor was opened up for those who wanted to cut a rug.

The music varied depending on the night and artist showcased, but three days a week it was almost exclusively smooth jazz, so that was what their piece would feature. The singer tonight was an unknown, but she headlined for the club more often than any other performer on the payroll.

They had already interviewed the owner, the chef, the headwaiter, and several patrons, so the restaurant was covered. Now, they would highlight a number by this Arabella Hamilton, get a few reactions from the audience, and a few shots of couples dancing. She and Bart had discussed interviewing the singer, but that was still up in the air. That would mean that they would have to be here for another couple of hours, and they had spent an hour here already.

Maria was impressed, and a little jealous, truth be told, by the lovely, young woman. She had stage presence all right. She had the "look" as well. But could she sing? Bart caught her eye . . . She waved him away. Not for the first couple of songs. Give the girl a chance to warm up first. It would allow them the time to decide how they wanted to set up the shot as well.

The music started. She and Bart exchanged glances before Miss Hamilton reached the chorus. Da-a-amn, the woman was good! No, better than good! Her voice was low and sultry, and seemed to seduce the listener, mesmerize him. This chick was fantastic! No wonder she was billed three nights a week. The only question was why she wasn't performing the weekends. She was certainly good enough for it.

Maria signaled Bart. She would give a brief introduction in front of the third song, and she began composing what she would say to the camera in her head.

* * *

Elle tried to focus her attention on the crowd, but try as she might, she couldn't get that man out of her mind. She hadn't planned this out. She had meant to wait until further into the evening at least before she did . . . _something._ She just wasn't sure what that something would be.

As she wrapped up her second song of the evening, Elle couldn't take it anymore. Once she decided a course of action, she wanted to plunge right in. The there was the issue that the longer she waited, the more likely it would be that she would chicken out in the end. As soon as the music stopped, Elle turned around and switching off her mike for a moment as an idea flitted through her mind.

"Hey, guys," she began, startling the band members. "I know we have a playlist already decided upon for the night, but I want to add something to it."

Morris, who led the band and played the bass, stepped closer to her. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

The red indicator light on the camera began flashing. She was on the air. Maria smiled into the lens and began.

"Now that you've had a glimpse into the food, the service, and the atmosphere of the newly renovated restaurant, Chez Donovan, let's discover together what real changes have been made.

"As you can see behind me, there is a new dance floor, and what would a dance floor be without music? Substantial money was put into adding a stage for a small orchestra or band, depending on the night, that provides the restaurant's customers with a wonderful selection of music for their dining pleasure. But the real show begins at ten o'clock each night when the restaurant closes its kitchen and the nightclub set kicks in.

"A variety of singers are headlined each night with their own style of music, ranging from easy pop, to blues, to swing, to jazz. Something for everyone to enjoy! Tonight's singer, Miss Arabella Hamilton, will be showcasing smooth jazz . Let's take a listen . . ."

* * *

Elle began slinking her way to the steps that led down to the floor as soon as the music began. She began singing as she moved down them, slowly drawing out the notes.

"My funny valentine,

Sweet, comic valentine,

You make me smile with my heart . . ."

Dick's eyes widened as he realized that Miss Hamilton was staring directly at him as she sang. He sat up in his chair as she turned and made her way directly to his table. He touched his chin, and sure enough, it was hanging open. He closed it with a snap. As she neared his table, unsure of what else to do, Dick stood up to meet her.

"Your looks are laughable,

Unphotographable,

Yet you're my favorite work of art . . ."

He didn't seem upset, Elle thought. In fact, he was smiling at her broadly, flashing all those straight, white teeth. He'd surprised her when he'd stood, although she hadn't a clue what kind of reaction she would get. She had leaned towards the idea that he would sit there while she walked around him, petting his shoulder seductively. When he stood, she had felt a thrill of fear that he would turn and walk out of the restaurant forever. What she got, however, went far beyond her wildest dreams . . .

Dick took her hand and pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist. She sang like an angel, and now he knew for a fact that she felt like heaven in his arms. The words of the song, one he had heard before but had never paid attention to, were funny, and he laughed as he swept her up into a slow dance while she serenaded him.

"Is your figure less than Greek?

Is your mouth a little weak?

When you open it to speak . . . Are you smart?"

She was finally able to see the color of his eyes. Why did the fact that his eyes and his tie were the same gorgeous blue send butterflies fluttering about inside her stomach? Then her heart skipped a beat the moment she realized that he was gazing back into hers with equal intensity. It was as if he were trying to reach inside of her and discover her soul . . . It took some effort to keep her voice from trembling with the rest of her.

Dick finally was able to see her beautiful eyes up close and personal, and they were as stunning as the rest of her. Dark brown, like her hair, with thick black lashes. He could see gold striations that fanned out in a starburst around her pupils; pupils that were dilating . . . That meant something, he thought, something he couldn't quite remember. Attraction, maybe? Yes . . . sexual attraction. He suddenly realized that she was searching his eyes with the same fervency as he was hers. He wondered, as he spun her around in a tight circle, if his own eyes were dilating. And, if she noticed, did she know the reason why?

"Oh, but don't change your hair for me.

Not if you care for me.

Stay, funny valentine, stay . . ."

His hands were strong and warm. He felt . . . safe, and moreover, she felt safe with him. But how could that be when she didn't even know him. Not his name; not anything about him. And yet . . . She wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

She felt perfect to him. Like a glove made specifically for his hand alone. She looked up at him with those amazing eyes that seemed to see everything, and he felt ten feet tall; like he could do anything, even fly without a grapple or line. So long as she just continued to look at him. Just. Like. That.

"Each day is Valentine's . . .

Stay, my funny valentine . . .

Every day is Valentine's Day."

They had been smiling at each other, but as the song slowed to an end, the smiles faded, just as the world had for them in the beginning. Dick dipped her low, their faces only inches apart. Her breathe smelled like cinnamon, and he had the sudden urge to lick her lips, to see if she tasted as sweet. His eyes slid of their own accord to her lips.

The spell had not been broken, but strengthened. His face was so close. Close enough to kiss. Elle found her eyes being dragged down to his lips. The lower lip was a bit fuller than his top one, and begged to be nipped. She licked her lips in anticipation. She thought he leaned in a little closer . . .

* * *

Maria gripped Bart's arm like a vise. When he could tear his gaze from the image in his screen, she mouthed to him, "Are you getting this? WOW!"

He nodded, turning back to the magical scene playing out in front of them and an entire room full of people. There was silence for a pregnant pause after the last note faded, and then the audience burst into wild applause! Maria did as well. This footage was . . . Well, it was golden!

* * *

The applause startled them out of their revelry. Dick was rather astounded that he didn't drop her, so startled was he. Arabella looked as out of sorts as he felt. She glanced around at the entire audience on their feet, and her blushed; a beautiful shade of pink. He suddenly realized that he was still leaning over her, holding her in that deep dip. His own face grew warm in response. He lifted her back to her feet. His hands were slow to release her, but he managed the difficult feat and stepped back. Taking one of her hands, he bowed over it; placing the kiss upon her knuckles that he very nearly placed on her lips mere seconds ago.

"Thank you for the song . . . and the dance." He hoped he sounded as sincere as he felt.

She seemed dazed for a moment, staring at her hand. Abruptly, she looked up into his face, and beamed, literally a ray of sunshine, at him. It took his breath away.

"You're welcome . . ." she paused as if she wanted to say more, but then seemed to remember where they were. She stepped back, pulling her hand slowly out of his, as if (he hoped) she was as reluctant to stop touching him as he was her.

The applause was still slowly tapering off. It was a far greater response to such a sweet, simple song than she might have imagined. She wondered what sort of spectacle they had made of themselves . . . Whatever had happened, the audience apparently loved it!

She smiled and waved, as the people slowly retook their seats. It was then that Elle noticed the camera and reporter standing near the back. She had been so focused on the man behind her that she hadn't realized that the news people were coming tonight to do a plug for the restaurant. They had just filmed the entire thing.

* * *

She glanced over her shoulder to the man of her dreams. It had ended so positively . . . better than she had hoped, in fact. There was no question now that she was interested in him, and she thought that maybe he returned it, but how would he feel when he saw himself on television? Would he be embarrassed? Angry? Would he come back? Determination filled her. This was important to her. A first for her, and she wasn't allowing a ridiculous publicity plug to get in the way. She made a hand movement to the band, and took a break. They began playing another tune for those who wished to dance, and she made her way to the back.

"That was beautiful! Simply wonderful," the news reporter gushed when Elle reached them. "I can't wait to get this footage back to the station. People are going to love it!"

"You can't put that on the air," Elle blurted out.

That brought both heads around to stare at her, the reporter and the cameraman. "I don't understand. You wanted some good publicity about the renovation and grand re-opening of Chez Donovan; something that would draw attention to the late night club and live entertainment. I can't imagine a better bit than what we just witnessed ," the woman said, perplexed. "It was stunning!"

"You don't understand," Elle began. She was distracted by the flashing red light on the camera. The camera guy had it focused on the two of them. "Are you recording this?"

"That's Bart," the reporter said, attempting to distract her. "My name is Maria Sanchez. Perhaps you recognize me . . ."

Elle turned to her. "Is he recording this?"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "No. The red light means stand-by," he blatantly lied to her face.

Elle stared at him suspiciously. Maria was smiling serenely at her when Elle returned her attention to the reporter. "As I was saying, I would really appreciate it if you would record another song to use."

Maria blinked at her. "But why? What we got was pure gold!"

"Yes, you said that," Elle grumbled. "Look, can I be honest with you, woman to woman?"

Interest peaked in Maria's eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Do you see that man over there?" She pointed back to the man she had just serenaded.

"You mean that gorgeous hunk that you just made figurative love to in the middle of the restaurant? Yes, what about him? Is he your boyfriend; husband?" Maria looked in his direction with frank appreciation. _He looks vaguely familiar,_ she thought briefly before her attention was once more taken by the woman in front of her. _As a matter of fact, so does the singer. I'm pretty sure that I have seen both of them before._

Elle's mouth dropped open as heat flooded her cheeks. "Uh, um, yeah. Well, he's not my boyfriend or anything like that. In fact, I've never met him before. But he's been coming to see my show for several weeks, and _well_, I kind of wanted him to maybe ask me out. You know, on a date." She blew a frustrated sigh. "But he's never sent me a note, or flowers, or anything really. I mean, he seems to be interested, but he just sits there every Thursday night and watches me, and then at the end of the evening, he leaves. Just leaves . . ."

Understanding suddenly dawned on the reporter. "Wow! Well, I'd have to say you two have got plenty of chemistry going for you, at least. Why do you not ask him out yourself?"

Elle looked shocked. "I couldn't!"

Bart peeked around the camera at her. "Why not?" When the women looked at him, his ears turned red. "I mean, if I had a hot, sexy woman singing to me like that, and she asked me out, I would definitely be saying yes."

"Are you sure that thing isn't recording this?" That light was still on; still flashing. It was annoying. Elle frowned at the camera.

"Absolutely," Maria assured her, but she threw a glance at the camera herself. "Why can't you ask him out instead?"

Elle didn't want to get into that. "Just advice my grandmother gave me once. Men ask the women."

"Your grandmother sounds like a very nice lady, but this is the twenty-first century. Women ask men out all the time."

"Well, maybe other women do, but _I _don't!" Elle insisted. "I didn't realize you were recording me when I did that or it would never have happened."

"Now, _that_ would have been a crying shame . . ." Maria said.

"Please! I will do another song for you. I'm just afraid that he might not ever come back if this should embarrass him." Elle pleaded.

"Honey, he's a hottie, but you probably have men lined up around the corner and down the block . . ." Maria scoffed.

Elle frowned at the thought. That was rather intimidating. "I-I wouldn't know about that. I've never actually . . . been out on a date before," she admitted reluctantly.

"No way! That's impossible," Maria gasped. How could someone so lovely reach her majority without even one date? "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three," she said. "I've been out to places before, but those were with escorts picked out for me. I've never actually been out with someone whom I was interested in. This is all new to me. And I would greatly appreciate it if you both would help me out here."

Maria wrinkled her nose in thought. "I've seen you before. I know I have. Hamilton . . ." She perked up. "Are you any relation to Cedric Hamilton out of Chicago?"

Elle pursed her lips. "He's my father."

"Your family is worth millions. Probably millions upon millions," Maria looked at her shrewdly.

"What? Are you wanting an introduction to my brother or something?" Elle sighed. Aidan was rich, attractive, and the heir apparent to their father's business. Women were forever trying to get in thick with him, and willing to use his little sister to accomplish it.

"To your father, actually."

Elle blinked. "Ah, he's a little old for you."

Maria blinked back. "What? Oh, no! Not like that!" The singer had actually managed to make her blush. "I mean, I would like to interview him."

"My father doesn't do interviews," Elle explained, worriedly. "Does this mean you'll run this footage because my father won't do an interview with you?"

"Surely, if daddy's little girl asked him sweetly, he would grant just this one. For you . . ." Maria smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile, however. Elle thought it made her look alarmingly like a shark.

Her father did like to dote on her, Elle mused, not that she encouraged such behavior from him. She felt like he considered her requests as ways to control her. But then, she seldom asked him for anything . . . Maybe, he would do this thing for her simply _because_ she never asked him for favors. He would feel it would give him an edge over her, for sure, especially now that she was defiantly stepping out from under his wing to assert her independence.

Elle looked back in the direction of her interest to discover that he was glancing back at her. He was watching her? He smiled a private kind of smile and tipped his glass in her direction. Suddenly, she had trouble catching her breath again. Unfortunately, Morris was also sending looks in her direction as well, she noticed, as her eyes slipping past her fantasy to the band leader. Morris' were decidedly less friendly, however. She needed to wrap this up quickly and get back to the stage.

How badly did she want this? She sneaked another look in _his _direction. He was just so . . . beautiful. Was he as lovely inside as he was on the outside? She might never know . . . The decision came quickly.

"All right. I'll see what I can do, but if my father refuses, it is out of my hands. I want the tape, however, in return. The original copy; the _only_ copy!" She looked directly into the camera, and pointed at Bart. "Including this part. Now, stop filming me!"

Bart had the good grace, at least, to blush. He gave her a thumbs up as the light finally went out.

"Okay, deal," Maria said. "But you have to give us another performance just like that one. A serenade! Oh, it doesn't have to be wonder boy over there . . . But it needs to be something exciting. And you have to actually _try_ to talk your father into an interview with me."

"I'll give it my best shot," she promised, telling herself that _he_ was worth it. Knowing what she was setting herself up for, she thought, _he had better be worth it._

* * *

Mr. Donovan walked up to Elle as she drank the bottled water they kept backstage for her. The rest of the show went very well. The audience was incredibly responsive to her tonight. She had sang a love song, serenading a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary at their table just before a huge cake was presented to them by their several friends who had taken them to Chez Donovan's for the occasion. It was sweet, rather than hot and steamy like her earlier performance had been. It worked., however. Maria Sanchez had looked pleased.

"This is for you," he said, handing her a card. "You know, they will be expecting you to do something similar from here on out," he added conversationally.

She blushed in spite of herself. "I'll try not to disappoint."

"Unless you can pull another performance out of your hat like that Funny Valentine, you just might do that." He stared at her.

"I hope you aren't upset with me." Elle bit her lip.

Donovan laughed. "How could I be? You brought the house down, Elle. And, after expending so much energy this evening, you should probably read that rather than continue demolishing it," he said, pointing at the card she was currently shredding.

Elle gasped, and tried to straighten the edges. It wasn't in too terrible of shape yet. Nothing was written on this side, so she turned it over.

It read:

Thank you for the song and dance. Would you like to have coffee with me afterwards? – Dick Grayson

Donovan tapped his finger to her chin, and she snapped it closed. Elle let out a happy squeal and threw her arms around her employer's neck. He chuckled at the joy and excitement he could see in her eyes. She had only been with him for three months, but Brian Donovan had come to see Elle much as he saw his own daughters. Arabella was at least seven years older than his eldest, who was just beginning to date, but she was nowhere near as experienced at dealing with the opposite sex as his Pamela was. Elle was as naïve as they come, and he heart ached at the thought of her getting hurt.

He knew Bruce Wayne far better than he did the man's son, but the idea of Elle starting out with the son of a rich playboy bothered him more than he could say. But Elle was an adult. She had intentionally sought the young man's attention. He hadn't like seeing how the young man had treated his date those weeks ago, but he was apparently gracious with the servers, and polite to the hostess. Against his better judgment, Brian had agreed to deliver the young man's message.

He watched as Elle grabbed a fresh card and borrowed his pen. She hesitated a moment, and then rubbed the card vigorously on her wrist before writing her reply, and handing it back to him.

Donovan glanced down at the elegant penmanship. He would give the young man the note, but with it a stern warning as well.

"I had better go out there. I have another four songs to sing before closing." Elle took another swig of the water, and then turned and sauntered out on the stage in a way that belied the young woman's innocence.

Dick was enjoying the show. This was Miss Hamilton's last song before closing. His gut churned with nervousness. He had seen Donovan coming out from backstage mere seconds after Arabella. He knew the man had given her his note. He thought he knew the answer from the smiles that she would occasionally shoot his way, but frustratingly, Donovan had chosen to wait to give him her answer. As chair pulled out beside him, and Dick glanced over at the man himself. Dick nodded, but turned his head back to the stage.

"She's not as experienced with men as her performances would lead you to believe," Donovan said as an opening. Although his eyes were on the performance, Dick heard his words easily over the music, and his disapproval. "She's new to this. I would have your promise, Mr. Grayson, that you would have a care of her heart. She is sweet and terribly naïve, and I tend to look at her as I might a daughter."

At this, Dick looked directly at him. He nodded seriously because Donovan seemed to expect that. "I wouldn't dream of hurting her, sir."

"Just so we understand each other." Donovan slid the card across the table as he got up and moved away, back to the business at hand.

After a moment, Dick gathered his courage and looked at the card, noting the beautiful, sloping curves of her handwriting; as elegant as the woman herself.

"_I would be delighted, Mr. Grayson. –Elle_"

She called herself, Elle. He smiled at the nickname. He liked it, he thought as he glanced up at the woman on the stage. It seemed to fit her, in some aspect that wasn't completely clear to him yet. He met her gaze and grinned. He couldn't wait to learn all there was to this angel with the sultry voice. He was about to tuck the card into his jacket pocket when the whiff of her perfume caught his attention. He raised the card to his nose. No doubt about it, as the soft floral scent enveloped his senses. He winked at her as he slid the card near his heart. He nearly laughed when she blushed brightly enough to see from his table.

Always before, Dick had been disappointed when the show ended. Tonight, however, he felt a nervous exhilaration. It was a good feeling, he thought as Elle bowed and waved to those couples remaining, wishing them a safe trip home. It was a very good feeling, indeed.


	3. First Date

**I attempted to set this entire scene (except for the last) up as seen from the viewfinder of a video camera. I hope this isn't too awkward, but I wanted the reader to imagine that he/she was watching this play as seen on a television. I also show the occasional thoughts of the character wielding the camera, and there is a place where a third party is filming the action for them. I'd be very interested in your opinions about how this turned out. Was it too awkward to follow? Was it an interesting viewpoint? **

THE FIRST DATE

The shaking image of a man's hand tugging at a woman's hand appears; breathless laughter in the background. He is obviously leading her somewhere.

"Come on! I've got something to show you," Dick's voice is heard saying.

The camera moves to focus on his face as he looks back over his shoulder. He is grinning broadly. His eyes are shining with life and humor . . . and something else.

"Are we late? Why are we running?" Elle's voice confirms her as the cameraman.

"Not late," Dick tells her. "It's a great day to be alive! It makes me feel like running . . . Doesn't it you?"

Muffled laughter is his immediate answer. "Of course," she says, her voice bobbing in time with her steps. "I'll follow you anywhere . . . As long as it isn't much farther. After that, you will have to carry me."

"It's just ahead," he tells her. "We're almost there."

The camera flashes ahead, past Dick's shoulder. There is a field of grass that leads down the hill to a lake surrounded by a wooded area. One can see numerous short piers. The picture suddenly veers, however, as Dick spins back suddenly. The viewer might believe that Elle is about to barrel into him when the image swings abruptly skyward. Elle yelps in surprise.

The jiggling picture struggles to focus, and strands of short, dark hair and a wildly jouncing landscape come into view. The feminine laughter is louder now and punctuated with shrieks. The picture slowly moves until it lights upon Dick's face; very close-up and angled up from somewhere below his jawline. He's looking past the camera at Elle.

"How's this? Any better," he asks. His eyes shimmer with happiness, and that something else, so hard to define, is even more obvious to the observant viewer.

"My hero! . . . Um, you aren't seriously going to carry me the rest of the way, are you," Elle asks in reply.

"It's not so far," he assures her.

"Far enough!" Elle's voice grows concerned. "Put me down, Dick. I'm too heavy."

"Nonsense! You are as light as a feather," he insists. His grin fades to one of mock seriousness. "But, any farther and you would have to walk."

The camera angle changes again as Dick begins to run with her in his arms. Elle's squeals and hysterical laughter chime out as the landscape bounces wildly for several minutes. There is a feeling of vertigo for the viewer as Elle is set back on her feet. She brings the picture back around to find Dick, in a tan, cable-knit sweater and dark blue jeans, stretching his back muscles dramatically as he groans.

"Whew! You really did me in," he complains.

Elle gasps. Concern colors her voice. "I _told_ you not to carry me! Are you . . . Oh! You faker! You aren't even breathing hard!"

Dick laughs and turns her and the camera toward an older building with green peeling paint with white trim that is nestled in the trees near the lake's edge.

"You must be in amazing shape," she observes as she continues filming. "So, where are we? Oh, boat rentals," she exclaims, enthusiastically. The camera pans to the business sign. "How fun!"

Dick passes through the picture as he steps up to the cheap, laminate counter to do business with the grizzled, old fellow manning the place. Elle sweeps the camera back to the lake. There are several redwood-stained piers jutting out over the water's edge. Each pier contained a different style of boat; row boats, an array of colorful paddle boats, and a stack of aluminum canoes.

"Ooh, can we do a canoe? Please?" Elle begged.

Dick's voice floats from behind her. "You heard the lady . . . A canoe, it is!"

Elle squeals happily. "Yes! Best. Date. Ever!"

* * *

Dick laughs at her reaction as he juggles a couple of oars and two orange life vests. He takes the camera as he hands Elle her vest. Immediately the camera turns on Elle. She looks beautiful with her long, dark hair loose about her shoulders, and her cheeks pink from her earlier exertion. She is wearing a bright blue, flannel shirt over a bit of lacy, cream camisole, and snug black jeans; comfortable wear for a day at the park in early October. Dick couldn't help being pleased that she showed up for their date wearing his colors, even if it had been entirely unintentional.

"I thought you told me this was your _first_ date ever."

"It is," she agreed. "But it has to be the best because, seriously, I don't think you can top this. I mean hiking, a picnic, _and_ canoes? I am at the pinnacle!"

As they start walking towards the lake, the camera dips down to check out how well Elle's swaying hips fill out her jeans. As if she knows what he is doing, she glances back over her shoulder. The picture jerks up to her face. He'd been caught! Guilty as charged. Dick clears his throat as Elle smirks at him, raising her eyebrow knowingly.

"What," Dick asks in mock innocence and she laughs at him, non-offended.

Walking sideways, she holds up the dingy, orange vest between two fingers. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"It's a life vest, Elle. You're supposed to wear it while out on the lake."

She makes a face, scowling at the vest as if it is infested with vermin. "I don't think so."

"It's meant to keep you safe from drowning."

She shakes her head sadly. "No way, Dick. I worked hard to look this good and I smell fantastic. I am not putting this orange . . . thing on and ruining it. It smells like fish and mildew."

He did a close-up on her face. There was the barest trace of makeup highlighting her amazing eyes, otherwise her beauty was untouched. "I'll vouch for that. You do smell rather amazing . . ." he whispered to the camera.

Normally, such complaints from his date would annoy him, but it was obvious, even to the camera, that her comments were meant to be teasing. He wondered why something that would bother him in other women, even Babs or Kori, on Elle, was utterly adorable and even enchanting.

It must be her attitude, he decided. She was just so happy . . . and sweet; so full of the joy of life. There didn't appear to be a conceited bone in her body. He knew because he had _looked_! No, despite her words, he knew she wasn't angry, but rather determined to have her own way.

"I think it is a rule, Elle, for insurance purposes," he explained patiently.

She sighed. "I wonder if they have water wings instead."

"Water wings?"

"You know. Those inflatable cuffs you slide up your arms."

Laughter was in his voice as he answered. "I believe those are for children, Elle."

Through the viewfinder, Dick could see the wheels of her mind turning right there on her face. He was suddenly curious. Her mind, he was quickly discovering, worked in fascinating, if unusual ways. She winked at him, and skipped ahead.

Although he continued on at a normal pace, he kept the camera focused on her as she made her way to the young guy manning the pier. She was speaking to him earnestly, but was too far away for Dick or the camera's microphone to pick up what she was saying. The man was shaking his head at her over and over. Dick had told her that she would have to wear the vest if she wanted to go out on the lake.

So, Dick was audibly surprised when the man suddenly nodded and took the offensive vest from her fingers. "What the . . .? How did she . . .?"

By the time he arrived, the man was handing her into the canoe. She was beaming up at him sans one stinky, orange vest. The man offered a hand for Dick's vest as well. Being a good swimmer, he shrugged, giving the the pier guy his vest as well. After all, he thought he smelled rather good himself.

A few minutes later, they were paddling several yards out, following the shoreline. The camera sat on the bench between them, its picture focused on Elle's back.

"So, are you going to tell me how you managed to get that guy to allow us to take a canoe out without a vest," Dick finally asked after a few moments.

"Oh, that . . .," she sounded mildly amused. "I simply explained to him that Aquaman is my cousin."

Although the camera was pointing away from him, one could practically hear Dick gaping at her back in his voice.

"Aquaman is y-your . . . You _lied_," he stammered. He didn't know why he felt so disappointed. It was the height of hypocrisy, considering his own need to lie in order to cover up his nightly pursuits. "And pier guy fell for it?"

"Hmm," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I don't really know that it's a lie exactly . . ."

"Wha-at?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain that a merman is my great-grandfather. But whether or not he was somehow related to Aquaman is rather up in the air . . ." Elle turned halfway in her seat to look earnestly at him. "But he _could_ have been, I suppose."

"How . . .? You are pulling my leg!" Dick accused.

Elle smiled serenely at him. "It's a family legend," she announced. At what must have been his patent disbelief, she turned in her seat, setting her oar across the top of the canoe. "Seriously."

Sighing, she leaned back against the bow, and dipped her fingers lazily in the water. Sounds of Dick's paddle still plying gently could be heard along with crickets, frogs, and buzzing insects. A dragonfly zipped up to hover in front of Elle's face, and the two of them silently contemplated the other for a few seconds before the insect moved off in a different direction.

She wasn't looking at the camera when Elle finally spoke, but off to the side watching nature as it slid by them.

"My great-grandparents, on my mother's side, were on a cruise off of the coast of Spain during their honeymoon. There was a terrible storm, and the ship went down in the night. My great-grandmother was the only survivor, floating alone on the vast ocean in a small raft. She had no supplies, and there was no land in sight . . .

"After two days, she was contemplating throwing herself into the sea to join her ill-fated husband and end her suffering, when a man swam up to her life raft. She looked, but couldn't see the vessel from which he must have come. He appeared very strong and healthy, and my great-grandmother insisted that he was extremely handsome.

"He told her that he could get her to land where she could be rescued, but for a price. My great-grandmother agreed. It was unclear whether he pulled or pushed or rowed the boat, but by evening, he was pulling the raft onto the beach of a small island. There was fresh water nearby and fruit, which he gathered and used to refresh my great-grandmother. Afterward, once she had regained most of her strength, she paid him for saving her.

"He told her then to walk along the shore, and she would eventually find a small fishing community where she could get help. He then plunged back into the surf and disappeared. My great-grandmother followed his instructions, and was soon rescued by a fisherman's family. Within a few weeks, she managed to make her way back home to Italy."

"So, what was the price he required for the rescue," Dick asked hesitantly.

Elle smiled dreamily as she looked out over the lake. "My grandmother was born nine months later."

Silence reigned.

Elle's smile broadened when her eyes finally met Dick's.

"It's a family legend," she shrugged, picking up her oar and turning about.

The camera moved as Dick picked it up silently, turning it in his hand until his face filled the view. The face he made was a comical combination of shocked awe and patent disbelief. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and grinning. While he might not believe such a tale, it was clear that it had amused him. And it _was_ a good story . . . and, truthfully, a rather terrific family legend.

He set the camera back on the seat in front of him, facing Elle.

"You know," she called back over her shoulder a short while later. "I've never been in a canoe before."

"Really? What about other types of boats?"

"Oh, sure," she told him. "My father has a home on the shore of Lake Michigan. He owns several types of boats. There is a yacht, a speedboat, and my favorite, a beautiful, hand-carved wooden sailboat."

"So you came from a wealthy family?" Dick was surprised. Elle didn't act like any high-society debutante he had ever met. She seemed, instead, to be very down-to-earth.

"Oh, most of my family is wealthy," came her reply. "My father and brother both are."

Curious . . . "You don't include yourself?"

Her voice, melodic in speech, floated back conversationally. "I have lived a wealthy lifestyle, sure, but I don't consider what my father has earned as mine. I've been given much simply by 'right of birth', but none of it have I earned on my own."

That was an interesting attitude to have, he thought. It was very close to his own, in fact. Dick tried hard to make it on his own, eschewing asking Bruce for anything. It still annoyed his adopted father, he was sure, but also felt that it earned him Bruce's respect; something which Dick valued far above money or things.

"I only recently persuaded my father to allow me to attempt to earn my own way. He's not convinced that I will be successful, and would have preferred that I remain safely ensconced in the family home; protected and pampered until he found me a suitable keeper . . ." Her voice sounded irritated. "Oh, sorry. I meant '_husband_'."

Yep, she was definitely irritated. Dick frowned. Her father sounded archaic.

"Poppa is . . .," she sighed. "Old-fashioned."

"I curious," he said. "How did you manage to persuade him?"

The irritation fled as she explained. "Oh, it wasn't pretty. I had to go against my principles and accept what amounts to, in my opinion, as charity. But he gave me two years in which to prove myself."

Dick heard an ". . . Or what?"

"Well, either I am successful enough to remain on my own, or I'll likely be herded by obedient, albeit well-meaning, bodyguards to await the anointing of the 'chosen one'."

"Chosen one?"

Elle snorted. It was a surprisingly delicate sound, he thought with a twist of his lips. "The _Husband_," she clarified.

Dick found he was indignant on her behalf. "You do realize that as an adult, you cannot be forced to do anything or go anywhere against your will?"

She laughed that joy-filled laugh he could listen to all day. "You are so cute, if a little naïve."

It had been many years since he had last been called naïve. "I'm serious here, Elle. Your father cannot force you to go home if you don't want to go. It would amount to kidnapping should he try."

She waved a negligent hand at him, speaking good-naturedly despite the disturbing topic. "Since I fully intend to succeed, I would suppose that that option would be moot."

Elle swiveled around in her seat, setting her paddle astride the sides of the canoe. She pinned him with a look before she turned the camera on him. Then she leaned back against the bow of the boat.

"Enough about me," she declared. "I'm totally boring. It is your turn now. Tell me about your own family. How weird are they?"

Dick burst out laughing. "Oh, you have no idea . . ."

"They sound fabulous already!"

Dick set his paddle across his lap, and rubbed his neck. "Where to start . . .?"

"At the beginning," she suggested.

"My parents were aerialist acrobats for a circus. I was born there . . ."

Elle gasped. "Seriously?"

Obviously amused by her reaction, Dick nodded. "Seriously."

"Were you an acrobat, too? Did you perform," she asked, excitedly.

Dick grinned. "Actually, yeah, I did. At the time, I was one of the youngest aerialists in the world."

"Oh, my God, that is perhaps one of the coolest things I have ever heard!" There followed a brief scrambling in which the canoe swayed precariously as Elle picked up the camera and sat down in the middle seat.

There was a splash, and the camera swings around to focus on Elle's oar now floating in the water.

"Oh, shoot," she mutters, thrusting the camera at Dick. The canoe rocks as she leans over in an attempt to retrieve it.

Despite the rewarding view of her backside, Dick rescues her from tumbling headlong into the water, and passes the camera back to her.

"Easy," he laughed. "Hold on. I'll get it for you."

A couple of strokes of his oar brought him closer. Dick used his own oar to bring Elle's near enough that he could safely pluck it out of the water. He lay both oars across the canoe's edges.

"I would have thought that you would be more . . . oh, I don't know, sea-worthy? You know, being Aquaman's cousin, and all." He opined with an almost straight face.

Elle's gasped in mock outrage. "Oh! No, you did _not_ just go there!"

Dick laughed outright. Elle's laughter quickly followed.

"So, are your parents still with the circus? What did they say about you wanting to leave," she asked. "Were they upset with you?"

Dick sobered. Discomfort crossed his features as he took a turn admiring nature. It was obvious, even to the camera, that he wasn't seeing the beauty surrounding him.

"Dick?" Elle's voice was soft now, hesitant. "Did I say something wrong?"

He sighed, casting her a sad smile. "No," he said. "My parents were killed when their trapeze wires broke." Keep it simple, he thought. No details.

Her breath caught. "Oh, my God! Oh no! Dick, I'm so sorry. I didn't know!" There were tears in her voice as she spoke, and the camera wobbled just a bit.

He looked surprised at her extreme reaction. "Hey, it's okay. It was hard at the time, but it was . . . years ago." Although there were times when it still felt like yesterday; when the pain was still as sharp and as strong as it had been at the time.

"H-how old were you," she asked, her voice soft and small.

He blew out a breath. "I was eight."

A sob shook the picture. "Eight? But, y-you were just a little boy!"

The picture swung out of focus as Dick pulled her carefully into his arms for a hug. The camera buzzed as it fought to find an image for a minute. Elle's sniffles could be heard over the sound of the oars bumping and birdsong.

"You are taking this far harder than I am," Dick spoke gently.

"I'm sorry," came Elle's watery laugh. Dick came back into focus as Elle sat back on her seat. "I understand, though, the loss of a parent," she admitted, reluctantly.

Dick frowned, tilting his head in inquiry, but kept silent.

"I, um, I lost my mother just after my seventh birthday," she whispered.

Dick's expression changed immediately to one of sympathy, and he reached for one of her hands.

"It was a car . . . accident," she admitted, not wanting to go into details either.

"I'm sorry," he said, simply.

Elle drew in a deep breath, and laughed. "This is not how this day was supposed to go."

Dick smiled. "You are absolutely right about that," he agreed.

"I've been having a great time so far. I suggest we change the topic to a happier one," she announced, handing him back the camera and snatching up her oar.

It was tricky, making her way back to the front of the canoe without taking a header into the lake or losing her oar again, but she eventually settled back onto the bench. Dick was grinning behind the camera, enjoying the show. He sat the camera back on the bench, and picked up his own oar as she began to paddle once more.

They spent another pleasant hour talking about favorite music, movies, books, and restaurants. She discovered that he loved seafood, but she did not; preferring land mammals to munch on. They enjoyed similar tastes in music, which was eclectic to say the least. Dick was pleased to find that she loved action/adventure movies. And on it went until they were pulling up once more to the pier.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this relaxed and lighthearted in anyone's company, even Babs . . . and part of him felt a flash of guilt over that. He had loved Barbara enough to marry her, and a tiny portion of him felt as though he were betraying that love by enjoying another woman's company above hers. But with Elle, he actually felt peaceful . . . happy. She could make even the most mundane topics seem humorous, and he didn't doubt for a minute that even a subject like laundry would make for a fascinating discussion as long as he held it with her.

* * *

After the pier guy tied up the canoe, Dick handed him the camera. "Hold this for me, will you" he asked.

"It's still filming," Elle instructed, "so could you keep it trained on the action, please?"

If the pier guy looked a little uncomfortable as he took the proffered camera, he was still careful to follow Elle's orders. "Uh, sure," he agreed, obediently turning the camera back on the couple.

Dick slid both oars onto the dock, and deftly hauled himself up the three feet to the dock's surface; ignoring the ladder in place to help folks up. He turned to watch Elle clamber over the canoe's middle seat. He carefully kept his grin in check. The grace she exhibited on stage was nowhere in evidence now. The boat wobbled ominously. He moved closer in order to help steady her as she reached for the ladder. Events happened lightening fast after that.

Elle stepped onto the seat in order to give herself a boost up. Unbalanced, the canoe dipped and flipped. Before he could think of what he should do, instinct and reflexes kicked in, and Dick grabbed the first thing he could reach. Suddenly, Elle was dangling several feet above the dark water of the lake; held suspended only by Dick's fist clutching her shirt. Elle gaped at him, blinking owlishly; her hands clutching his wrist.

"Wow," She gushed, breaking into a huge grin. "That was amazing! You have the most incredible reflexes . . ."

Dick cringed, as other reflexes he had developed to protect his Nightwing identity kicked to the fore, followed by a large . . .

_**SPLASH!**_

_Oh shit_, he thought, gasping. _I just freaking dropped her! What the hell . . .?_

Elle's head broke the surface, her dark hair plastered to her skull and covering half of her face.

Gasp! "You . . . you!" She slid beneath the surface again, only to come up coughing. "You dropped . . . _cough_!" She dipped below the surface once more.

Dick kneeled down, reaching a hand out for her to grab when she came back up for air. As he waited, the ripples in the water began to smooth. His eyes widened as he searched the murky depths for any sign of her.

"Elle," he yelled. "Oh, my God! Where is she? Do you see her?"

The pier guy was just as stunned apparently as Dick. The camera's angle shifted only slightly as the man holding it moved closer to the edge of the dock to help search the lake water. "I don't see her. I don't get it," he wailed. "She said she was Aquaman's cousin! I thought she could swim, you know?"

_How long had she been under_?

Dick jumped to his feet, kicking off his shoes, and dived into the water. He was under for several long seconds before resurfacing. His eyes searched the area under the pier in the hopes that she had come up under there, but there was no sign of her. He dived beneath the water again, his feet kicking hard to push him down further into its depths. He couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face, and the deeper he dived, the darker it became. His hands flailed about in a desperate effort to find her, grab her, and drag her back to the surface and life-giving air. He wasn't sure how long he'd been under, but it wasn't until his lungs began burning that he allowed himself to surface long enough to catch his breath.

"Elle," he gasped. Panic was making his limbs heavy. _No_! He couldn't give in to panic! Elle would die if he couldn't find her within the next couple of minutes!

Dick pushed that thought aside violently. He had just discovered her! Both his heart and his head told him that she was something special. He couldn't lose her yet! In the heat of the moment, it didn't occur to him that that particular feeling, that those particular thoughts, were coming far too soon based upon an acquaintance of just a few, short days. Desperately, he dived again.

His hand found the bottom; mud stirring up to diminish his vision even more. He felt his way around the reeds; found the posts to the pier above him; found the bottom of the canoe they had just exited. He found a can; a sign; for one heartwrenching second, he had exulted in the discovery of an old shoe. Just not Elle! Not a touch of clothing; not a hand or a foot; not even a wisp of her hair . . .

She was just . . . gone!

* * *

The video picture wobbled as it witnessed the boyfriend's frantic search. He was under so long himself that to an observer, such as the one currently filming, one began to worry that both members of the couple were in danger of drowning.

Water sloshing, bird cries, and the harsh breaths of the guy holding the camera was all that could be heard between the occasional noise of the boyfriend's desperate gasps before he disappeared beneath the surface of the water for a third time. How long had she been under? Dangerously long, and it felt like an eternity . . . He had worked here practically his whole life, and he had never before seen someone drown. He should have made her wear the damned life vest! But she had been so pretty, and her voice had been like music . . . She had seemed so sure of herself.

Splashing and a light vibration of the dock, had the pier guy turning to see who was coming to help. The camera view swung around, at first not finding anybody, and then, a hand grabbed the rail beside the ladder several yards to the rear of the dock. Another hand appeared on the opposite rail. A familiar female figure made her way onto the dock, wet clothes plastered obscenely against her body; her long, dark hair dripping rivulets of lake water onto the boards. She wiped a hand over her face, pushing her hair back.

"Y-you're alive! You're not d-drowned," came pier guy's shocked voice from behind the camera.

The girlfriend gave him the kind of look that had made him feel the need to question his own intelligence ratio as she sloshed her way toward the end of the dock.

"Keep filming," she ordered, when he allowed the camera to drop. "Trust me, you aren't going to want to miss this," she said as she swept past him.

She stood, feet apart and arms akimbo, dripping as she waited for her boyfriend to resurface. She didn't appear to be any the worse for wear, but neither did she appear to be especially amused by her recent dunking. Wild-eyed, pier guy gulped and continued filming.

It didn't take long before the boyfriend to break the surface in order to take another gasping breath. Luckily, he glanced up before turning to dive again. His eyes widened; relief and joy evident in his features.

"Oh, thank God," he gasped. "Elle! How . . .? I thought you were . . ." he couldn't make himself finish that particular sentence. "Are you alright?"

The avenging angel seemed to soften slightly at the sight of his relief, but not enough to get him completely off the hook. She leaned slightly forward as if to give greater weight to her words.

"You dropped me," she accused.

The pier guy, caught up in the drama, swung the camera down towards the boyfriend, currently treading water directly beneath the sopping woman. He seemed to come to an immediate understanding as his expression morphed from relief to embarrassment and dismay.

"Oh, uh . . .," he stammered for a moment. "It . . . it was an accident?"

The woman's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her lips tightened. "An accident?"

"You slipped . . .," he clarified, "out of my grasp."

"Seriously," she asked, apparently unimpressed. "That's the story you want to go with right now?"

The man in the water gulped audibly, nodding. "Yes? I . . . uh, yes. Definitely, yes."

The girlfriend pursed her lips in thought. After a minute, one side quirked up into a half smile. The boyfriend, sensing that the danger had passed, reached up to the edge of the pier; pulling himself out of the water.

As his waist pulled even with the pier, the woman's foot met his forehead, causing the man to halt his progress. Their eyes met for a meaningful instant.

"Whoops! I'm so sorry. My foot slipped," she cooed, and then deliberately shoved him back into the lake with a resounding splash. She kneeled on one knee, grinning, as she waited for him to resurface.

"Okay," he admitted upon emerging. "I may have deserved that."

His hands reached for the dock's edge again, and this time he pulled himself up quickly. Her eyes went wide in surprise as one of his hands grabbed the front of her flannel shirt again as fleetingly his lips met hers. He let himself fall backward into the water; his girlfriend barely having time to yelp before being tossed over his head, and into the lake headfirst.

This time, both parties materialized within seconds, laughing at each other. The woman splashed him as he grinned at her.

"Hey," he protested. "I'll remind you that I jumped into a freezing lake to save your ass!"

"My ass didn't need saving," she told him, smugly. "My ass can swim very, _very_ well, thank you; as can the rest of me!"

"Aquaman's cousin?"

She grinned. "Exactly! And let's face it, you like my ass, and that's why you tried to save it," she announced with a smirk, before swimming back to the dock ladder.

The two men watched as she cut smoothly through the water. He glanced up toward the guy holding the camera. "She's got that right," he said, "It is, without a doubt, an ass worthy of saving."

"Uh, sir? You're going to have to come out of the water now," the pier guy's voice floated from behind the camera's view, hesitantly. "There's no swimming allowed here."

The grinning man moved to follow his date's path through the chilled water.

* * *

Arabella was still dripping despite being wrapped up in one of the rough blankets the boat rental place had loaned them, when Dick pulled up to the front of her upscale, tenement apartment building. As there was no close parking spots, Dick remained double parked near the entrance so that she wouldn't have to walk far in the cold breeze. The weather had taken a cold turn from the balmy breezes of the early afternoon; the temperature dropping even more with the fading light.

Elle turned to him, smiling despite the soggy ending of their date. His eyes were drawn to a bead a water that had slithered down from her hairline and now dangled alluringly from the tip of her red nose. Before he thought about it, one finger came up to catch that droplet. Her nose crunched adorably at his action.

"I'm sorry that I dropped you," he began, apologizing for the tenth time since they climbed out of the lake. "I promise that it will never happen again."

Her hand slid out from beneath the blanket to cup his face. He couldn't resist leaning into it. "You don't have to apologize," she told him. "I'm Aquaman's cousin, remember? I love to swim."

Dick blinked at her easy-going manner and good humor. Her eyes were warm, and gentle, filled with happiness and something . . . else. But there was no sign of recrimination to be found. He was, frankly, astonished. Somewhere inside of him, he had been mourning the end of what had promised to be something very special. Most women would have not taken being unceremoniously dropped onto murky, stinking, _freezing_, lake water well. _Most_ women would have angrily demanded to be taken home before telling him to, well . . . to go jump in the lake.

"You are . . . amazing," he whispered.

She snorted, inelegantly. "No, I am wet," she teased him. "And so are you. But I thank you for the complement."

He smiled, gazing into her warm brown eyes. "I don't suppose you would be interested in . . ."

"Yes," she interrupted him. "Yes, I would."

He grinned. "You don't even know what I was planning to say."

"It doesn't matter," she assured him. "If it is with you, then I'm interested."

He was speechless. He was never speechless . . . and yet he found that he had been exactly that several times during the course of the day. And he had enjoyed every second of it. _Well_, he clarified, _every second he hadn't thought she were drowning, anyway_.

Darting in the last couple of inches that separated them, Elle kissed him. The world seemed to fade away as the warmth of her lips seeped into his body; into his heart. If Dick had ever been cold, he could no longer remember it.

The kiss ended far too soon. She touched her forehead to his, smiling at him. "Thank you for today. I enjoyed myself.

"Except for the dunking at the end?"

"_Including_ the dunking at the end," she reassured him. "It made a wonderful day that much more memorable."

He laughed. "I'll bet."

"As if I could have forgotten even a minute of the best date ever," she held up her video camera.

A car horn beeped behind them. Dick put down the window to wave them around as Elle opened her door.

"Oh, I should have gotten that for you," he groused, cross with himself. Alfred would have been appalled, he was certain.

"No," she assured him. "I'm sure I can manage this time." She turned to get out of the car, but turned back at the last minute. "Will you . . . um, I mean, will I be seeing you again this Thursday?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he said. "And . . . If you want . . . ah, maybe tomorrow? For dinner? I figure as long as we stay away from water, we'll be safe."

The smile she graced him with was brilliant. "Absolutely."

Dick watched her enter her building through the double glass doors; stopping to speak briefly to the security guard manning the front desk before entering the elevator at the back of the lobby. Just before the doors slid closed, she turned and saw him watching her. She smiled, waving her fingers from the edge of the blanket as the elevator doors slid shut.

Another horn blared, and Dick pulled out into traffic. This had been the most interesting date he had ever been on in . . . his brow creased, like – ever! He shivered as yet more cold, lake water dripped down the back of his neck. On a scale of one to ten, he tried to place it amongst his memories of every other date he could recall . . . After several moments in thought, his face cleared, and he decided that Elle was right. It had been the best date ever!


	4. Misery Loves Company

Misery Loves Company

Dick opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. The early afternoon sun felt more like a knife piercing his forehead and stabbing at his brain unmercifully. He had started feeling less than great last night before he went out on patrol, and had practically crawled home less than four hours later with a low-grade fever and the worst sore throat he thought he had ever had. He hadn't managed to accomplish more than stopping one would-be-mugger. He had taken the last of last season's cold medicine which had put him out like a light, but he could tell upon awakening that his fever was back with a vengeance.

Poor Elle was likely just as miserable as he was at this moment. October probably wasn't the best time to go for a swim, however unintentional it was. After his panic that he had let his date drown the first time they had gone out, he had actually forgotten the cold water and chilly breeze enough to truly enjoy himself. She had certainly surprised him, by taking her dunking so well. Sure she had pretended to be annoyed with him initially, but they had both climbed out of the lake dripping and laughing uproariously. She had merely squeezed the excess water out of her hair and shirt, and squished her way back to the car with amazing fortitude and a bevy of teasing comments. He couldn't think of one other woman of his acquaintance that would have not been furious with him for dropping her into the freezing October lake, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

Dick rolled out of bed, and immediately weakness drove him to the floor on his knees. His stomach roiled ominously. Saliva flooded his mouth. Desperate, Dick dove toward the trash can, barely reaching it before what little contents his stomach hit the receptacle, taking what felt was left of the lining of his throat with it.

It must have taken a year to get back to his bed after a necessary trip to the bathroom. It felt like it had taken a month just to gain the strength necessary to roll off of his stomach and into a fetal pose. He stared hopelessly across the ten mile expanse between him and the phone on his nightstand. He wondered how long it would take for someone to discover his dead, decomposing body . . . What he wouldn't give to have Alfred here. Alfred always knew what to do to help him feel better.

Jagged pain lanced through his head a few minutes later when his cell phone rang. It was somewhere in the living room, he thought. It might as well have been on Mars. He pulled his pillow over his head and ignored it. Five minutes later his landline jangled. He looked across the bed to where it mocked him from its position of safety in its cradle. He squinted at the number that lit up its little screen. 555-7277 . . . It looked familiar. Whose number was it?

Suddenly, he remembered. Elle! Elle was calling him!

He didn't believe anyone else in the world could have convinced him to attempt the distance. He lunged, and nearly cried when he fell inches short. How many times had it rang? He gathered his remaining strength to cross the last few inches. His hands shook hard enough that it took him three tries to hit the talk button.

"Elle?" He croaked. Was that his voice?

* * *

"Hello?"

Elle had gone against her grandmother's advice to call Dick, but she hadn't a choice now. They had planned to go to dinner tonight. Unfortunately, Brian had just called to ask her to sub for Randi this evening. Randi sang rhythm and blues on Sunday and Wednesday nights at the club. While she didn't mind filling in, usually because she had nothing else better to do; tonight Elle had had plans. But she felt bad, leaving Brian in the lurch. So, she was trying to reschedule her and Dick's date for another night.

Now, she was frowning at the phone in her hand. Dick hadn't answered his cell, so Elle had looked up his home phone. But she didn't recognize the voice (if it could even be called that) that had muttered something unintelligible when it answered.

"Um, is Dick Grayson there?" Maybe she had dialed the wrong number.

"Elle?"

Oh, that was definitely her name.

"Yes, this is Elle," she replied, hesitantly. "I-is – Is this Dick?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Elle cringed in sympathy at the pain-filled voice. He sounded like someone had sandpapered his throat raw.

"Oh, you sound terrible! What happened?"

"Sick," he croaked. "Must have been from the lake Saturday."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Guilt swamped her. The poor guy . . .

"Are you feeling okay," he asked with a voice that sounded like he was gargling ground glass. "Did you get sick, too?"

"Ah, no. I'm fine," she said. "But I guess dinner's off, hmm? You sound terrible."

"Oh, damn," he groaned. "I'd forgotten about dinner. I've been a little preoccupied."

"No," she reassured him quickly. "I would have had to cancel it anyway. My boss called me in to replace another singer for tonight. That was the actual reason I called."

"Another time, then," he whispered.

Elle paused. He sounded disappointed. Was it wrong of her to feel happy about that when he was so sick? And he really did sound bad. She wondered . . . "Do you have everything you need? Do you have someone you can call for help?"

He didn't answer for so long that Elle had thought they had been disconnected. She began to worry about that when she heard him cough. It sounded like it had ripped its way out of him.

_Oh God_, she thought. _Poor, poor baby_ . . .

"It's okay," he croaked. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

The groan floated through the phone.

Elle bit her lip. Being sick was miserable enough without having to suffer through it all alone. Decision made, she began to make plans.

"Dick, give me your address. I'm going to drop off some things that I think might help."

"That's so sweet," he moaned. "Don't have to, though. Don't go out of your way . . . I'll be fine." A cough tore its way out of his throat belying his words.

Elle caught her breath. "What? What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"M'sorry. I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I just don't want you to catch this if you've managed to avoid it so far."

She smiled. "Give me your address, Dick Grayson. Don't make me have to hunt you down."

* * *

Two hours later, Elle knocked on Dick's door. Silence answered her. Uncertain, she tried the knob. Locked! Why would he leave it locked when he knew she was going to come over? . . . Unless he couldn't. Worry began to gnaw at her. He really had sounded terrible on the phone . . .

Elle set the box she carried on the floor, and kneeled down. Pulling a bobby pin from her hair, she bent it into the shape she needed. She hadn't had to use this particular skill since her brother had moved out of their father's penthouse. Who knew that anything good would come out of those difficult and trying times? She wouldn't have guessed that the ability to pick a lock would ever come in handy once her fraternal nemesis had discovered his own rock to crawl under. Still, her mouth quirked as she began her task, she always made certain she was never without a few hairpins at any given time. Less than a minute later, Elle was officially guilty of breaking and entering. Tucking the evidence into her jeans pocket, she opened the door.

The shades were still drawn, and only a few slivers of afternoon sun reached the interior of the space. Her eyes were well adjusted after traversing the dim and somewhat dismal hallway. The first time in Dick's apartment, she took time to note the sparse furniture, strewn liberally with clothes, books, and various take-out boxes. Locating the kitchen on the right, she got down to business unpacking her box. Turning on a burner, she set the small stock pot she had brought with her to warming. Grabbing the pharmacy bag that contained her recent purchases, she turned toward the door that she thought must lead to the bedroom.

"Dick?" She called out his name as she swung open the door. "GAH!"

Suddenly the world spun, and the bag of medicine went flying! The breath left her lungs violently as she was slammed onto her back with a muffled thump. It took several moments for the black spots in front of her eyes to clear. The ringing in her ears, however, took considerably longer to diminish.

"Oh, my God, Elle," she finally could hear a grizzled voice exclaim. Dick's pale, concerned face slowly came into view, hovering somewhat frantically over her. "Did I kill you?"

"No," she wheezed. "It only feels that way."

Dick helped her into a sitting position. "I heard a noise moving around in the apartment. I thought someone had broken in . . . Um, I'm guessing that was you?"

A blush crept up her cheeks. "Um, yeah."

"Man, I must have been out of it when I came home last night to have left the door unlocked." Dick rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah, about that . . .," Elle muttered. "I . . . um, well . . . I did knock first."

"I must have fallen asleep. I didn't hear you knocking." He stood up, swaying slightly. He offered her his hand.

Elle was shocked by the heat coming off of him when she let him pull her to her feet. "Good Lord! You are burning up!"

She immediately took his arm and led him back to the bed. The covers were in a mess, a testament to his restless efforts to find a comfortable position. Frowning, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Do you have a thermometer?"

Dick started coughing, but managed to point in the direction of a door Elle surmised to be his bathroom. She noted the slight tremor in the limb. Adrenaline must be crashing, she thought, watching as the tremor became more of a quake. Remembering her purpose for coming, she moved quickly and located the old-fashioned, mercury thermometer on a shelf in his medicine cabinet. She was closing the door when she paused, considering what she nearly missed. There was an inordinate amount of first aid supplies in there. Rolls of tape, piles of sterilized gauze, rolls of bandages, antibiotic ointment, prescription painkillers . . . Everything, she thought, but a fever reducer and a cough syrup.

She grabbed the thermometer and moved back to her patient, thoughtful. Dick opened his mouth obediently, and she tucked the thermometer under his tongue before moving to retrieve her bag of medicines.

Why would he have so many first aid supplies, she wondered. It was obvious he was athletic. Saturday was a testament to his strength and agility, despite their both landing in the lake. Certainly someone with such an amazing physique wouldn't be riddled with injuries. She was turning around when she noted the gun in its holster on the bedside table. She nearly tripped over her feet!

A second later her eyes landed on the glittering gold badge lying next to it. _Oh_, _shoot_, she thought, understanding at last. _That's right._ _He's a cop_!

It was curious was that he would choose to care for his own work-related injuries rather than go to the emergency room. Workman's comp aside, it just made more sense to get patched up by a professional. But, then again, here he sat pathetically attempting to nurse his own illness.

Pulling the thermometer out of his mouth, she read the mercury line. 103 degrees was no minor temperature! No wonder he was so miserable! _Poor baby_ . . . She hurried to pull out the extra-strength acetaminophen as she headed back to the kitchen to search for a clean glass.

At least one of the three glasses Dick owned was clean, Elle noted, taking it down from the cabinet. She filled it with water, since the orange juice she had bought would likely burn all the way down right now. She did discover a teapot, however, and filled it up, setting on the burner next to the simmering pot. Hot tea with honey and cinnamon would go a long way to making his throat feel better.

After watching him struggle to get the pills down, Elle made him lay back down to sleep. She puttered around for a half an hour, picking up his clothes, starting a load of laundry, washing his six dirty dishes, cleaning out his refrigerator. _The man needed a maid_, she thought, then laughing, she added, _or a girlfriend_.

She went to check on him, tea in hand. He looked better, she thought. _Fever was down_. She ran her hand through his hair, and called his name softly.

"Babs," he moaned in his sleep. "I'm sorry."

_Babs_? Who is Babs? _Maybe he said Bob_, she determined. It was kind of cute that he talked in his sleep. She could have all kinds of fun with that, she snickered to herself. Not that she would take advantage of him while he was sick . . .

"Dick, wake up. I need you to drink some tea," she said. "It will make you feel better."

Blinking, Dick looked around him warily. Seeing Elle's beautiful smile, he relaxed, remembering she had come over. He sat up carefully, pleasantly surprised when he could manage it without collapsing or his muscles protesting.

"Feeling better?"

He smiled. "Yeah, actually, I am."

Elle took his temperature again, pleased to find it had dropped to a much more manageable 100 degrees. Still up, but she could work with that. She wrapped his hands around the warm mug. Steam still rose from the fragrant tea, but it had cooled enough he could drink it immediately without risk of burning his mouth. The honey sweetened tea slid down his throat, soothing the rawness that could still be felt despite the pain medication he had taken. _Mm, and cinnamon_!

"Mm, that's good stuff," he said, his voice almost normal.

'My grandmother swore by it," Elle smiled. "Have you eaten today at all?"

Remembering the mess in his trashcan, Dick cringed. "No," he admitted. "I wasn't sure I could keep anything down." He nodded sheepishly in the direction of metal bucket in the corner.

"Oh, well, that was likely because of how high your fever was," she explained. "Are you feeling nauseous right now?"

Dick did a perimeter check of his body, relieved when his stomach reported a negative on the nausea topic. "No. Just a few aches and pains, a mild headache, and the sore throat, although the tea helped a lot with that."

Elle stood up. "The headache is likely from low blood sugar. The tea will help with that, but it probably won't go away until you eat something first."

A couple of minute later, Elle returned with a mug of hot minestrone soup and a fresh, warm breadstick. "It's my great-grandmother's recipe. I whipped this up this morning after I talked with you."

The hot tea had helped clear up his sinuses enough that the delicious aroma of the soup wasn't lost on him. He boggled over the fact that she had not only cooked for him, but hadn't taken her soup and tea and left in a huff after he had flipped her onto her back earlier.

She had so easily forgiven him for that! What woman smiled at a man who had just slammed her bodily into the floor just twenty-four hours after nearly drowning . . . She was still here; still taking care of him despite all of that! It defied logic! He gazed up at her, his angel, and saw her watching him expectantly. He figured that where she might forgive him for his earlier, if unintentional abuse, she likely wouldn't if he didn't hurry up and try her soup.

"Mm, delicious," he murmured, appreciatively; thrilled he hadn't had to lie.

He ate tentatively, until he was certain his stomach wouldn't suddenly rebel, then with gusto, relishing the flavors of the soup and the soft bread. Pleased, Elle sat on the edge of his bed to watch him.

* * *

Headache receding and stomach burbling happily, Dick was becoming more cognizant of the fact that his current obsession was perched next to him . . . in his bedroom . . . on his bed. Brian Donovan's words abruptly slid through his brain . . . Innocence. She didn't look innocent at that particular moment; although her silver-gray sweater and black slacks weren't exactly the sort of wardrobe a femme fatale generally wore when on the prowl. But Dick was beginning to think she could wear burlap and make it sexy.

She took the dishes away, and returned with more medicine. If she wanted to poison him, Dick figured he was doomed, as he obediently swallowed whatever pills she gave him without even a glance. Elle instructed him to take a warm shower, handing him clean clothes out of the drawers she had started rummaging through. Actions that would have been the death knell of any relationship he might have had with any other woman.

He hated people pawing through his stuff . . . Probably because he worried they might find something stashed somewhere that gave away his Nightwing identity. However, Dick was fairly certain that all his Nightwing accouterments were hidden away where a casual search wouldn't find them. No matter how sick he had been last night, he wouldn't have slacked in that regard unless he had died before accomplishing the task or dropped into unconsciousness first.

Again, however, he took no offense to Elle's actions. He frowned at the thought as he rinsed the lather from his body. Could she be a supervillian whose super powers included a mesmerizing voice and gorgeous, hypnotic eyes? Turning off the shower, he toweled off wondering if Bruce's paranoia had finally rubbed off on him. He could hear the sweet sound her humming in his room.

Nervous, and curious, Dick peeked out to find her busy changing out his sheets and making his bed! Although he still felt the effects of his illness, his body had suddenly made the leap that his head had made earlier when Elle was sitting beside him.

Damn it! She was an innocent, here out of the goodness of her heart to nurse him back to health! And maybe if he continued to repeat that mantra in his head, his body would listen to him enough that he could walk out of the bathroom without embarrassing the both of them.

"Hey," Elle called out. "Are you still alive in there? I have a surprise for you."

Dick rested his forehead against the bathroom door in a mild panic. _A surprise_? He wished she hadn't said that. Now his brain was cruising through a list of possible surprises, none of which he was sure she currently considering – he sighed - unfortunately. He lightly pounded his head against the wood.

"Did you hear that," Elle asked, her voice floating in from the other room. "Was that you knocking, or . . .?"

"Uh, no," he croaked. "Probably the neighbors. The walls are kind of thin." He cringed. It wasn't a total lie . . . These apartments _did_ have thin walls.

He moved back to the mirror, using a towel to wipe away the condensation. He stared in horror at the image of him standing in just a towel. Okay, _that_ wasn't going to be an option . . . He needed more layers, he decided, turning to the clothes Elle had given him. He gaped in dismay when he held up a clean t-shirt and a pair of black boxer-briefs.

_Worse than the towel_, he wanted to wail. Why was this happening? It was like fate had handed him the perfect woman, and now was bringing about every possible event guaranteed to make her run from him screaming!

He turned the water back on in the shower. Just the cold water, that is. He needed to quit acting like he was fourteen instead of twenty-four. Whipping off the useless towel, he stepped back in under the freezing spray.

* * *

Elle set the basket on the bed of freshly laundered clothes. She was surprised that his apartment had the luxury of a small, stackable washer/dryer set, but nevertheless taken advantage of it. It was easier to rest and recuperate when one wasn't surrounded by all the little chores that were begging to be done. As she folded t-shirts and jeans, her eyes kept straying to the bathroom door. He had looked so good in just a wrinkly, old t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, even though he was still obviously pale and weak from being sick. How messed up was that? What was wrong with her?

Images of him in the shower, kept flitting through her mind, forcing her to constantly battle to shove them back out. The poor guy was miserable! He needed her help, not her lust . . . Okay, at least not her lust, yet! She had just met the guy! She suddenly thought that her father's decision to send her away to a private girls' school during her teen years had been a wise and fortuitous decision, if she was reacting like this now.

She moaned, disgusted with herself . . .

"Um, are you okay," came Dick's voice from behind her. He stood in the bathroom doorway, adorable worry lines creasing his forehead. "You aren't getting sick, are you? . . . because if you are, then I am the absolute worst boyfriend on the entire face of the planet."

Her heart skipped a beat. He called himself my "boyfriend"? It was such a high school thing to do, and she felt a little silly for getting all excited over an adolescent title, but . . . he called himself my "_boyfriend_"! She felt her face getting hot in a combination of embarrassment and excitement.

"Your face is flushed," he accused. "Damn it! God, Elle, I'm sorry. How are you still here? You must be thinking I'm some kind of walking plague or bad luck charm! I've only wanted spend time with you and get to know you, and all I have managed to do is hurt you . . . All in the space of four days! At this rate, you'll be lucky to survive the week!"

Elle, realizing his train of thought, suddenly burst out laughing. If he had any idea what all was really going through her mind . . . Well, she didn't want to go back in that direction.

He frowned at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she assured him. "It was nothing. I am not scared of you, you know," Elle insisted. "Everything that has happened has been an accident or my own fault. In fact, you may have been getting the worse end of the deal, all considering."

Dick mouth pursed as he mused that idea over. He didn't agree that his slamming her into the floor was her fault, but he had been feeling rather like death just a couple of hours ago, and now, well, not so much. "So," he wondered aloud. "How did you manage to avoid getting sick after the lake?"

A slow grin made its way across her face; her eyes twinkling with some private jest. "Since when have you ever heard of Aquaman catching a cold?"

Dick gaped at her a moment, then frowned, and then . . . grinned. "Point taken."

In her head, Elle giggled silently. He was going to be running her family legend through his mind over and over again, wondering if any of it was truth, and whether or not he was dating a mermaid three times removed. She hadn't meant to bring up that old story again, but now that he knew it, Elle decided to have as much fun with it as she could.

Dick had a wonderful sense of humor, but it was probably not nearly as warped as hers. He had been walking around, looking like someone had smacked him in the forehead with a two-by-four for the past four days. He wasn't used to her yet. It made her wonder about the relationships he had had in the past; what those women had been like, and why did she feel a little sad for him because of it. Her mother and grandmother had both insisted that it was a woman's job to bring peace, romance, and fun into her man's life. Perhaps they had been old-fashioned, as that reporter had claimed, but her father still pined for his lost love, and her grandparents have been happily married for nearly fifty years.

Elle shook herself. It didn't matter about those faceless women, she decided. They obviously weren't here now, and that was their loss. She knew that they hadn't been capable of giving Dick what he needed, or else he wouldn't have been coming week after week to listen to her sing. She didn't know him well enough yet, but she would . . . She enjoyed her time with him. He was turning out to be worth all the headache of having to be indebted to her father again. She would do her best to make sure that Dick would never regret sending her that card requesting her company for coffee after her show. He would never regret _her_!

"Um, so," Dick brought her out of her thoughts. "What's that surprise you were talking about earlier?"

Elle grinned. Time for some peace, and perhaps a little bit of fun . . .

* * *

"Do you want me to stop by after I get off work tonight?"

Dick watched Elle gathering her things. He nodded, unable to speak with the thermometer still in his mouth. She moved back to the bed and pulled it out to read it.

"Very good," she said. "99 degrees is much better that the 103 degrees that you had when I first arrived. I'm leaving the medicines right here by the bed. You're due for another dose in about an hour, so don't forget or you'll be regretting it. Now, do you need anything else before I go?"

He was feeling so much better now, he almost could forget he was still ill. "No, nothing else," he sighed. "I kind of wish you didn't have to go, though."

Elle smiled gently; her hand pushing the hair off of his forehead. "I wish I didn't either, but I promised."

"That's okay," he murmured, enjoying the feeling of her cool hand on him. "Mustn't break promises."

"You never answered my question."

"About what? Oh," he remembered. "I'll be okay tonight. You worked all day, and now tonight as well. You should go home tonight and get some sleep."

"I'll call you in the morning when I wake up, to see how you are doing then," she told him. "I can swing by tomorrow if you get worse or need something else."

"Elle?"

"Hmm?" She stood up to leave, but turned back to the figure on the bed. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he reassured her. "I just . . . I just wanted to thank you. For everything. Especially for my surprise. Now, _that _was remarkable," he grinned.

He'd never suspected that Elle knew how to give a deep-tissue massage. His aching muscles had turned to liquid under her talented hands. She had played a CD of her own music during the massage, and between listening to her singing and the relief from his aches and pains, Dick had fallen into a deep sleep that had lasted most of the afternoon, only to awake feeling marvelous for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

She had still been here, although he wasn't sure what she had done with herself in the meantime. She had finished straightening and dusting his bedroom, he could tell, but Dick hoped she hadn't spent all her time cleaning up for him. Her first time here, and he knew the place was a wreck. It was embarrassing. Never the best housekeeper, thanks in part to Alfred always picking up his messes behind him while living at the manor, it was the first time it had actually bothered him when a guest saw it.

"I'm just glad you're feeling so much better," she said as she gathered up her jacket and bag. "I left you the rest of the soup in the fridge. You can heat it up if you get hungry. There is tea and honey in your cupboard now if your sore throat returns. Try to drink some orange juice in the meantime."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. "Promise you'll be careful leaving the club tonight. Make Donovan walk you to your car."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "I'll be taking a cab home, anyway. Later, 'gator!" She waved, and slipped out of the door.

Dick listened to her leaving. He still felt great, but a small hollow place opened up at the sound of his apartment door closing. He missed her. She hadn't even made it to the stairs yet, and he missed her. But she had promised to call him tomorrow, didn't she? He smiled and relaxed, the hollow place filling up with warmth at the simple remembrance of her promise.

He looked over at the medicine she had left for him to take. _She's like a drug_, he mused. _Just two days with her, and already I'm addicted_.


	5. Crime-Fighting Fairy

Crime Fighting Fairy

As he looked out over the Gotham skyline, Batman found his eyes and thoughts straying yet again toward the river, and the neighboring city just beyond. Bludhaven. For months it had eaten at him, that defeated look in Dick's eyes after he and Barbara called it quits yet again. He hated seeing his son hurt, and no one seemed more capable of inflicting pain than Barbara Gordon.

He had respected the ability of the woman to wear the bat well, and after she had lost her legs to the Joker's bullet, he had continued to be impressed with her ingenuity as well as her stubborn refusal to give up. Known as Oracle now, she continued to fight crime in a different venue. He considered her a powerful ally . . . But a silent part of him despised that she also had the power to shred his son's heart on a whim. He couldn't tell Dick that he secretly cheered when he had announced their breakup. He had, at the time, prayed that this time would be the end of it – permanently; not that he would have been able to tell his son as much. At least, not without risking losing him again. After suffering through the past few of years without him, it wasn't something Bruce or Batman was willing to do.

Now, after watching, not only Dick, but Nightwing suffer for an idle, petty, power trip the woman had been on for three-quarters of the past year, he was unsure that the Barbara wasn't a necessary evil for Dick's happiness. He hoped the hell not, but it was beginning to appear that his hope was a hollow thing. These past few weeks were worse than usual for the simple fact that he hadn't heard from the boy . . . Man! Dick was a man now. It was nearly three weeks since the last phone call; four since he had last seen him. Two weeks had been the longest length of non-communication they had gone through since he and his eldest had patched their differences up. Usually they would speak two or even three times a week. He was getting seriously concerned now, worried that the funk his son had been in for so long had progressed into actual depression.

"Have you heard from him?"

Batman looked over at Red Robin. It was a testament to his level of distraction that he hadn't heard Tim's approach until after he had already managed to cross half the distance of the building's rooftop. Unacceptable. He needed to focus or he might as well head back to the cave, else some wise-ass punk might get lucky enough to put a bullet in him.

"I take it from your question that you haven't heard from him either," Batman muttered.

He didn't like this. It was one thing for Dick to ignore him. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he had angered the younger man at some point during his last visit, although if he had, he had been completely unaware of it. But, it was totally out of character for him to ignore his younger brothers. The fuss that Damian had been making earlier in the evening had assured Batman that the boy hadn't heard from Dick either.

"No, and I have to tell you that I don't like it." Red Robin's eyes swept the streets below, looking for trouble automatically, although he was nearly as distracted by the current familial issue as his father. "He hasn't been this incommunicado since last year."

Batman nodded. "But even then, _you_ would hear from him occasionally."

Damian was still new. The boy had come to his care from his mother, Talia al Ghul, almost a year before, shortly after he and Dick had ended their long estrangement. But in that time, the boy had forged a unique relationship with his eldest brother that was making this recent silence as difficult for him as it was for the rest of the family. And it was unusual for Dick to not take Damian's need for attention into account.

"Are you thinking this is about Oracle? Or could this be more serious than that?"

Batman glanced at his companion, his face grimmer than usual. "I begin to think that this thing with Oracle is becoming more worrisome than Bludhaven's current gang problem."

This earned him a look from Red Robin. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, if _we_ are this distracted, being on the outside; how much more distracted must Nightwing be? Bludhaven is far better crime-wise than it was before Nightwing moved in, but it still is far more dangerous at night than is Gotham."

"You think that he's going to be less cautious than usual, don't you? That his distraction by his and Oracle's relationship problems will get him hurt . . ."

" . . . Or killed." Batman hated thinking about that. He just got his son back after nearly three long years of living in hell without him. He couldn't stand the idea that he could lose Dick to a moment of inattention, all because his son couldn't move past his heartbreak.

A crackle over his comm-link alerted him to a robbery in progress on the police band, interrupting thoughts better left to daylight hours. Fifth and Emerson was just a few blocks away. According to what he was hearing, the police were still ten minutes out.

"Did you catch that," Red Robin asked, turning to face the direction of the ongoing robbery.

Batman was already in motion, pulling out his grapple as he ran across the roof. He felt more than heard Red Robin moving up to pace him. They leapt off the building edge together.

* * *

Red Robin landed on the sidewalk outside the jewelry store just seconds behind Batman. The store front was dark, and no movement could be seen from outside. The metal grating that normally covered the storefront during closing hours had been cut with what must have been some heavy duty bolt cutters, and pushed up out of the way. The glass door was broken and propped open with a brick.

Had the thieves already gone?

Batman placed a finger on his lips. Unnecessarily, thought Tim, but he kept his mouth shut and followed his mentor into the darkened store.

The darkness wasn't total, the light from the street penetrating part the way into the store. Glass from the door crunched underfoot, sounding loud in the silent building. Red Robin frowned. Shouldn't the alarm still be blaring? Or did it have a silent alarm? He and Batman had reached the store within ninety seconds after hearing the alert. How could the thieves have had times to break in, turn off the alarm, rob the store, and escape without detection in little more than two minutes? It didn't seem possible, unless maybe something scared them off before they started.

Something crunched under his boot than wasn't glass. Tim kneeled down. _What is that_? _A pearl_? It was white, whatever it was. He picked it off the floor and shined a light on it. _I-it's_ _a tooth_!

"Red Robin, I don't think our robbers managed to escape after all." Batman's voice came from the back.

Walking to the back room, he saw three hooded men unconscious and tied up, sitting back-to-back in the middle of the room. One of the men was bleeding from the mouth; his jaw swollen. The mystery of the tooth was solved. Red Robin moved up to the trio, carefully tucking the tooth into the bleeding man's shirt pocket. There was some visible damage to the room they were in, but not so much as he might have expected when one considered the sort of fight that would be necessary in order to leave three grown men in this condition. And apparently, Batman agreed with his assessment.

"Whoever took them down was fast," Batman commented. "I suspect he caught them in the act, and surprised them."

"Do you have any idea who could have done this, and left without leaving a clue," Red Robin asked.

Batman looked thoughtful for a second. "I have my suspicions. I only know a few people in Gotham capable of this, and two of them are here."

"He had to have been incredibly fast to have accomplished all this and leave without us running into him," Red robin postulated.

"Not necessarily so. You didn't notice the security keypad by the door when we came in? The thieves had disabled the alarm before they even entered the place." Batman walked back out to the front. The thieves weren't going anywhere, except maybe to the emergency room before they were booked and tossed into a cell. Sirens could be heard in the not so distance and were closing fast.

"But it was the alarm that alerted the police, and us."

"True. So, think about it again."

"Unless Flash was cruising by without telling us he was in the vicinity," Red Robin mused. "Someone must have taken these guys out at his leisure, and then set off the silent alarm on his way out the door? That would make sense."

The police had arrived. They entered the establishment cautiously until their eyes adjusted to the gloom enough to make out the Caped Crusader and Red Robin milling around at the rear of the showroom.

The first officer smiled, lowering his weapon. "Batman, Red Robin," he greeted them. "One of these days, we are going to beat you to a crime. It would be interesting to watch you walk in after the fact for once."

Batman nodded to the officer. In the shadows still, Batman recognized the voice and build of the man to belong to Officer Dillon Scott. Still a young officer, not long out of the police academy, he remembered. Batman had met him at several crime scenes over the past couple of years. He had noted him because Commissioner Gordon had told him after one meeting that he had graduated Gotham's police academy the same year that Dick had graduated from Bludhaven's academy. The young officer didn't seem afraid of him at all, and the only reason that Batman didn't consider that a problem was the rather intense amount of awe and hero-worship that stood in its place in the man's eyes.

"That would be an enjoyable turn of events, indeed, Officer Scott," Batman growled. "Your perpetrators are in the back."

Red Robin stepped aside to allow Scott and several officers through. He followed Batman to the street. It wasn't until they were standing on the roof of the neighboring building that Tim felt free to talk again.

"You allowed the police to believe that we nailed the crooks." It was a statement of fact. He looked to his mentor.

"Whoever our hero is, he or she didn't leave any clues to his or her identity. He didn't want credit. As I don't believe anything was taken, you saw the bag full of jewels sitting in the middle of the table; I saw no reason to waste the night with answering questions and raising speculations that would be better served by returning to patrol." Batman explained. "I doubt our hero is ready to hang up his cape at this early hour. Perhaps we may run into him yet tonight."

* * *

Several hours later, Red Robin and Batman had returned to the roof where they had begun their night; staring once more across the river into Bludhaven. They had run across three other busted crimes over the course of their patrol. Like the jewelry store robbery, the perpetrators were unconscious and zip-tied at the spot of their crimes; their victims or bounty sitting and awaiting the authorities just as pretty as you please. Even the statements of the witnesses or victims had been garble-headed enough that the hero could have been nearly anyone in a mask.

"You know," Red Robin muttered, disgusted with the night's work. "I could have taken the night off, and finished a paper for my political science class."

"Watch what you say," Batman warned.

No references to civilian life while on patrol, no matter that they were the only humans for blocks that were awake, let alone out on such a cold night. The wind was picking up, fluttering Red Robin's cape behind him, though not so Batman's. The wind had a difficult time creating a ripple in the heavy leather that made up Batman's current cape.

"Sorry," he said. "So, have you determined who our hero is?"

"The only obvious ones that it could be would be Red Hood, although that seems highly unlikely as he seldom leaves his territory, and when he does, he usually doesn't bother stepping in to stop a crime in mine . . . Or Robin, who would have to be out without permission." _Damian_. It was Wednesday night, and Robin wasn't allowed to patrol on a school night.

Red Robin smirked. "This sounds like something the demon-child would do."

"It is a good thing that said child isn't in hearing of your name calling."

Red Robin darted a look, but Batman's lips remained in the same grim line as always. Had his father's remark been a rebuke, those lips would have tightened and lost their color. It told Tim that the name itself didn't bother him so much as the reaction to it by its intended recipient did. Not a rebuke then, so much as a warning to watch who was around to overhear him; particularly if that person were Damian himself.

"While I wouldn't put it past him, Robin's been skating on thin ice for the past week. I doubt he would be stupid enough to risk being grounded from his weekend patrol for a mid-week joyride through Gotham's criminal sector."

Red Robin tilted his head as he thought about that. "If he thought he could get away with it, I certainly wouldn't put it past him. You said you didn't find clues as to who this guy . . . or girl, could be, right?"

"Mm, and _that_ might be our biggest clue."

"So, you _do_ have some ideas on who it might be?"

Batman straightened his shoulders, and turned to make his way to where he had parked the batmobile. "Do you want to come home tonight?"

_So, you're going to play this hand close to your chest, eh_? Red Robin looked in the direction of where he had hidden his bike. He was tempted. Alfred's breakfasts were always the best.

"I should head back. I still have that po . . . uh, paper due." The regret was there in his voice, however. His mouth started watering. He wondered what he had in his refrigerator. Bologna and frozen pizza. There was cereal, but his milk had smelled a little off yesterday morning. "But if you're willing to talk me into it, I can always come by in the morning."

"I know someone who would love to see you," Batman paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "If you have no plans, come by for breakfast. Bring your stuff with you. You can borrow the study, if you like."

"Will you be there?"

"For breakfast."

"You should play some hooky. My stuff won't take me long. Might be fun to just hang out for a while."

"It just might . . ." Batman's lip quirked.

Red Robin grinned. "See you later, then," he said, but Batman was already gone.

He took his time making his way back to his bike. They were ending the night early. _Might as well_, he thought, _since our crime-fighting fairy seems to have taken care of everything for us tonight_. That still bothered him; the not knowing. It had bothered the Batman, too, although Tim suspected that his mentor had some other person in mind when he had left. Maybe after a good night's sleep and one of Alfred's award-winning breakfasts, they could take some time to consider their hero's identity.

_Even the demon-child might be able to give us some helpful input_, Red Robin added, generously.

He pulled his bike out from behind an overloaded trash receptacle where he had stashed it earlier. Visions of bacon and omelets dancing in his head, Red Robin turned his bike in the direction of his apartment, looking forward to his next meal.


	6. The Raw Deal

The Raw Deal

Elle picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. Her father had been in Europe for the past couple of weeks. She hadn't been able to talk to him yet about the potential interview for Maria Sanchez. Ms. Sanchez had done her one better by not only giving her the original copy of the tape of her serenade, but also placed a copy onto a thumbnail drive as well. The least she could do was talk to her father as soon as he was available.

His secretary had assured her he had arrived back in Chicago two days ago. He had a day to recover first, so he was sure to be in the office today. The call would go through on his direct line, so unless he was out of his office for a meeting or something . . .

"Hamilton," was the short, clipped answer.

"Hello, Poppa," Elle began. "How was your trip?"

"Arabella, my love," Cedric's tone warmed up immediately. "What a surprise, sweetheart! I don't suppose you are back in town, hm?"

"No, Poppa. I'm still in Bludhaven," Elle sighed. "You didn't answer my question. How was your trip? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Business is business, darling child," he murmured. "It feels as though you have dropped off the face of the earth, however. You do not call your father nearly enough. I would have enjoyed this trip had you joined me, though. It would have been like old times."

"I have been to Brussels many times," she reminded him. "Besides, you would have spent all day in meetings. I wouldn't have seen you at all."

"It was not all meetings, you know, Bella," he teased. "There were dinners, and I went to the theatre while I was there. You would have kept busy with shopping and the museums as well. I would have arranged for you tours . . ."

Elle rolled her eyes. "I have done all of that many times, Poppa. I called you for a reason, though." _Might as well get this over with_, she thought, _before Poppa starts pressuring me to forget about my dreams and move back home_.

"Indeed," he sounded surprised. "What reason do I thank for having my beloved daughter call me?"

Elle grimaced. Guilt trip, much? "I have made a . . . friend, Poppa." Well, Maria Sanchez couldn't exactly be called a friend, but she really didn't want to get into the real reason why she was asking him for this favor.

"A friend?" Cedric's voice grew more curious as well as more cautious. "What is this friend's name, pray tell?"

"_Her_ name is Maria Sanchez," Elle placed heavy emphasis on the feminine pronoun. "And she's a reporter."

"Haven't I told you, Bella, that reporters are scavengers; never friends," he chided.

"Poppa," she said, a warning in her voice. "I am not a child. I am perfectly capable of making my own friends."

"And what did this reporter friend of yours ask of you in payment for her friendship," Cedric asked, knowingly.

Elle wanted to hang up. Everything had a price for Cedric Hamilton. She was walking directly into this knowing that her father would be judging her as a naïve, little fool, and taking it as proof that she was incapable of running her own life. He was constantly worrying that she would forever be taken advantage of by the wolves of the world. But she refused to give him the true reason behind this favor. The last thing she wanted was for her father to know about Dick Grayson. Not yet . . .

"It isn't a payment for her friendship." That much was true, anyway, since they weren't actually friends. "Her boss was bugging her about bringing in something that was truly newsworthy. I was the one who suggested that I might be able to swing a possible interview with you."

Elle hated lying, but this was one she considered necessary. She would need to let Ms. Sanchez know the back story before she let anything important slip when her father grilled her about their 'friendship'.

"I don't do interviews, Arabella. You know that." This was the voice of Cedric, the businessman; not that of her father.

"Poppa, please," Elle huffed a little. "Could you do this one interview for my friend? Could you do it for me? Please?"

There was a long pause. She could almost hear him thinking. She had not only said, please, but had said it twice. His little Bella seldom ever asked for anything, and she never ever begged. Elle knew she had gotten his attention.

* * *

This wasn't for anything petty, he knew. Cedric wondered what the real reason behind this favor was. He would have given his daughter the world, if she had asked . . . but she never asked. She had never been a greedy child, nor had she grown into a materialistic woman. Had she, his daughter wouldn't even now been living in a city more than two hours away from him at this moment. She would have still been living with him; safely ensconced in his penthouse or his home on the lake, surrounded by people he trusted to place themselves between Arabella and any danger.

He hated this need she had to be independent of him. That she preferred to make her own decisions rather than continue to trust him to make them for her as she had as a child. This experiment she had practically forced him into grated heavily on his nerves, and he worried about her constantly. She mistakenly believed that the dangers that came with being a rich man's daughter were somehow mitigated once she reached adulthood.

That part of him that made him such a successful businessman came to the fore. Perhaps he could somehow use this favor to get something that he wanted in return.

"If I do this thing for you . . ." he began. "Might you reciprocate by doing me a little favor in return?"

"What sort of favor," she asked hesitantly.

Cedric smiled at her caution. She was right to be suspicious.

"You know I worry about you," he said. "This silly attempt to go off on your own is ill-conceived. You know this."

Elle interrupted him before he could insist on her moving back home. "No, Poppa! I will not move back in with you."

"Then what about we find you a nice apartment here in Chicago? Closer to home and to me? Hm?"

Elle laughed in spite of herself. "You own Chicago, Poppa. If I am to have the opportunity to be independent and earn my own way, I need to be out from under your jurisdiction. Bludhaven isn't so far away. It could be Gotham City, you know, or New York."

"New York," he repeated, startled. "That is too far away; a plane flight away. Gotham is yet another hour further from me."

"See," she smirked. "Bludhaven is just around the corner from you. Much better than New York City."

"It sounds as if this favor is turning out to be very one-sided. You should have followed me into the family business, Bella. You would be a natural negotiator."

"I have no desire to spend my days inside of a boardroom, thank you, no. That is more Aidan's thing."

Cedric shrugged. It was true his son was a talented businessman, but Arabella was the child of his heart; the daughter of his second wife, his true love. From the moment he held her in his arms, looked into her rich, dark eyes, he had desired nothing more than to give her everything. When his beloved Esmeralda had died on that black day sixteen years ago, he had clung to the child with all his might. He could still see his beautiful wife in their daughter's eyes, in some of her movements and expressions. At times, it was almost as if Esmeralda had never left him.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to choose a favorite from amongst his children, but he couldn't help himself. It created a sibling rivalry that he often used to bring his children to heel, or make them strive to improve themselves. It certainly worked in molding his son into a strong businessman and able partner in his growing empire. Arabella, however, didn't respond nearly as well to his parenting tactics.

"Then how about visiting me, then, if you won't end this debacle and move back?"

"It isn't, nor will it be, a debacle, Poppa!" Anger flared in her voice, traveling through the phone with ease.

"Whatever you want to call it, then, Bella," he said, wearily. "I have a meeting in about another ten minutes. If you want me to seriously consider granting this one time interview with your reporter 'friend', then my price for it is a visitation by you once a month during which you will attend one event with me."

"Is that event truly with you, or do you plan to set me up with yet another escort?" Elle asked, warily. "I have no desire to spend an entire evening on the arm of one of your business associate's sons or with anyone else for that matter."

"How do you know if one of those sons isn't the 'one' for you, if you do not attempt to at least have a conversation with them," Cedric teased.

* * *

_Because I have already found him, Poppa_! She chastised herself for thinking it, even as the truth of the words struck her heart. It wasn't something she could say aloud, however, at least, not yet. And certainly not to her father . . . That would definitely send the poor man running from her, if he had to face down her father.

"Isn't there anything else you desire of me, Poppa," Elle asked. She did not want to go back to Chicago for anything.

"I would say for you to marry a man of worth, and provide me a bevy of grandchildren that I can groom to take over my empire one day, hm," Cedric replied, jovially. "I know of several young men who would fit the bill."

Elle cringed. She was ready to call the whole thing off. Taking a breath, she made him the next best offer that she thought he might agree to. "I will visit with you, Poppa. I might, on occasion, go to an event with you, but on _your_ arm; not anyone else's. That is my deal."

Elle dreaded the idea of returning to Chicago for any reason. She didn't doubt that any visit she made would be filled with all manner of machinations meant to prevent her from returning to Bludhaven. Her father would do his damnedest to keep her in Chicago with him, which will create all kinds of problems in and of itself. And now that she was finally on her own, she had to promise to return every month for a visit throughout the rest of her trial.

"You drive a hard bargain, child," he sighed, although the both of them knew he had gotten the best end of the deal.

"I do not," she blew out a frustrated breath. "If this benefited me at all, I wouldn't have promised to do something guaranteed to create yet more friction with Aidan. He's going to hate this, and as a result, make certain I will hate it even more. You know he's going to take my visits as some sort of failure on my part, and treat me accordingly."

"Nonsense! I do not know why you two are always at each others' throats. You are brother and sister, for God's sake!" Cedric groused. "You will come home, and Aidan will do what I tell him to do."

In business, yes, Aidan always did what their father told him to. That wasn't an issue, however. It was what he did in the rest of his time that created the problem. Her brother had hated her from the moment of her birth. It had taken many years for her to understand the reasons why. There would never be peace between them, she knew. It was just one more reason why she had been so desperate to move out of her father's home, and out of Chicago proper.

She prayed that Dick continued to be worth effort she was going through for him. Thinking about the time already spent with him, Elle reconsidered her bargaining skills. Maybe she wasn't such a bad negotiator at that, when she considered the prize awaiting her come tomorrow night after her performance. He was work, she decided, but he was worth it.


	7. Visitation

Batman stepped out of the batmobile and glanced around the cave. Alfred was usually waiting for him when he finished patrol. There was no sign of him tonight, however. Of course, he was home nearly an hour early, so it was possible that he was in the kitchen still.

He moved toward the changing area, eager to get out of his costume. It wasn't often he was able to end his patrol early, and he thought he might like to sit by the fire in his study, and go over what he had seen tonight. He had his suspicions. It could still be either Red Hood or Robin, but he was beginning to lean in a different direction.

He noticed Robin's costume hanging in its usual position as he removed the cowl and the cape. He fingered the material. It looked and smelled clean; proof that Damian wasn't the hero in question in tonight's crimes. Still, Bruce planned to swing by the boy's room to make certain before crossing one suspect off of his list.

After showering, Bruce walked out into the cave, ready to climb the stairs up to the manor's secret entrance. He stopped after two steps. He wasn't alone in the cave anymore. His eyes moved around the various areas visible from where he stood. Alfred would have greeted him upon his exit from the changing area. Whoever was watching him, it wasn't Alfred!

Bruce tensed, awaiting for the intruder to show himself . . . and almost immediately after that, he allowed his muscles to relax. No alarms had gone off. The cave's entrances were nearly impossible to detect without a prior knowledge of their locations. No one could enter here without either he or Alfred being alerted unless he had clearance.

He felt his lips lift in preparation as he turned around slowly.

"I so had you," came a well-loved, familiar voice. "You are slipping in your old age, Grandpa."

Bruce blinked at that slur. "Grandpa? Why, you young whippersnapper . . . I dare you to step over here, and say that."

Laughter greeted his teasing words. "Ah, Bruce, I missed you!"

His eyes found and greedily absorbed the sight of his eldest son, still garbed as Nightwing, stepping out from behind the computer. He had obviously been hiding out in the medical bay. "The feeling is mutual, chum. Everyone has been wondering what happened to you." Bruce frowned. "That was you tonight, wasn't it? Were you hurt?"

Nightwing grinned. "Are you kidding? No one laid a hand on me. I was in the zone tonight."

"So, why were you in the medical bay?"

"Just wanting to see how long it took you to notice I was here," Nightwing mimed checking his watch. "Almost ten minutes! Bruce, I am ashamed . . ."

Despite the chiding words, Bruce gloried in the happiness he could hear in his son's voice – _finally_! "Ten minutes? I hardly think so. Does Alfred know you're here?"

Nightwing moved past him into the changing area in order to strip out of his costume. "No one knows I'm here. And it was ten minutes. I arrived here just before you came in. You just didn't notice me until now."

Bruce leaned against the doorway that shielded the changing area and the bathroom from the rest of the batcave, and watched Nightwing become his beloved eldest son with a few swipes of spirit gum remover.

"I can't imagine that I was that distracted," he teased. The fact was, he had indeed been that distracted . . . and ironically enough, with thoughts of the intruder, himself. "So, you are going to admit that you were the crime-fighting fairy in Gotham tonight, correct?"

Dick paused in changing to gape at the older man. "Crime-fighting . . . what?"

Bruce grinned. "Just something that Red Robin dubbed the mysterious hero running around Gotham this evening. It seemed fitting at the time."

Dick laughed as he pulled his sweater over his head, and Bruce marveled that he sounded so normal after so long of faking it. When Dick finally turned to face him, Bruce was struck by the lightness in his eyes, the relaxation in his stance, his shoulders; the easiness of his grin. This wasn't simply back to normal, though, was it, he thought wonderingly.

"Dick," he began. "Has something happened?"

His son blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Bruce was almost afraid to ask, but something had pulled his son out of his depression of almost nine months. His heart was torn between hope and fear. "H-have you and Barbara worked things out?"

"What," Dick looked startled.

"Have you and Barbara gotten back together?" What else could account for this?

Dick slowly shook his head. "No, Bruce. No, we haven't spoken or seen one another for months now. Why do you ask?"

Although Dick sobered, he didn't appear to be falling back into his previous funk now that the topic of Barbara Gordon came up. New hope arose. Could it be that Dick was finally over her? An uneasy relief replaced Bruce's fear. Was it too much to hope for that he had met someone else . . .

"You . . . you seem to be in better spirits tonight than I've seen you since . . . well, for a long time, son. I'm glad to see it, is all. I was getting a little worried."

"Worried?" Dick grimaced. "Oh, because I haven't called in a while. I'm sorry about that. It is part of the reason I decided to come to see you rather than just pick up the phone."

"Keep going," Bruce said as the two began making their way up the stairs. "I'm curious as to what you've been doing to stay so busy that you couldn't take a moment to phone home."

Dick shrugged, ruefully. "I've been pretty distracted lately, I guess."

"Apparently so. Last I heard you and Wally had planned to spend a weekend together."

Dick nodded. "Yeah, it was good to see him again."

The pair moved into the manor, stopping off at the study. "Then, you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Not exactly. I came by after that," he defended himself. "You just happened to not be here."

"So, get me up to speed. What has happened to put that smile back on your face?" Bruce leaned back against the chair, prepared to listen.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Heh! Well, Wally sort of talked me into going out more . . ."

Bruce smiled and leaned forward. _I knew it_, he thought triumphantly. "What's her name?"

"Bru-uce, can you stop being the detective for five minutes?" The blush that fanned across Dick's face drew Bruce's smile into an out-and-out grin.

Alfred walked into the study, interrupting Bruce's laughter. "Well, I say, this is a pleasant surprise." The butler's mouth turned up at seeing the two masters together again, and in such high spirits. "It is good to see you, Master Dick. You are looking . . . quite well, in fact. Still too thin, but it is nice to see you smiling again. It was sorely missed."

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I suppose I've been worrying you both for a while now," Dick apologized.

"Nonsense. We would have worried about you regardless," Alfred reassured him. He looked over at Bruce, asking, "I wasn't expecting you back so soon or I would have met you downstairs, sir."

Bruce waved away the concern. "It's fine, Alfred. It isn't as though I am incapable of taking care of myself."

"Ah, of course not, sir. The question, however, isn't whether you can take care of yourself, but whether you can take care of yourself _properly_." The older man glanced between his two charges. "Might I bring you both some coffee, and perhaps a light repast?"

"I'm kind of in the mood for some of your cocoa. Would it be too much trouble?" Dick looked up hopefully.

Alfred smiled, beyond pleased to see, not only the lightness of being that the young sir had been missing for far too long, but that his appetite appeared to be returning. "It would be no trouble at all. I believe I have some fresh chocolate chip cookies in the tin as well. Shall I bring you out one or two?"

"That sounds terrific, Alfred. Thanks!" Dick's eyes lit up at the prospect of having some of the retainer's famous baked goods.

"I agree," Bruce added. "No coffee for me, Alfred. I'll take some cocoa and a cookie also."

"Very good, sir. I shall return momentarily." The butler nodded to the two men, and retreated back to the kitchen to prepare the snacks.

"Now, then," Bruce turned back to his wayward son. "You were about to give me a name?"

"Was I? Funny, but I don't recall that," Dick smirked.

Bruce looked surprised. "You aren't worried that I won't approve, are you? For her to manage to give you back your smile, how could I not instantly love her?"

"I only just met her," Dick explained, finally admitting that it was a girl that had brought him out of his slump. "I mean, I had been going to see her for a while now, but only just recently gotten the courage up to ask her out on a date."

Bruce frowned at his wording. "I don't think I understand. How did you two meet?"

"Ah, now that's a funny story." The blush was back.

"Yes? I'm waiting . . . Amuse me," Bruce encouraged him.

Dick had somehow managed to give Bruce a watered-down and vague description of how he and Elle met without giving any real details; leaving the older man less than satisfied and no closer to being enlightened when he was done than when Dick had started the story. They were interrupted, however, when Alfred came in bearing cocoa and cookies. Bruce refrained from commenting that his plate had but two cookies on it, while Dick's bore three. After all, Bruce hadn't been absent for all of a month, nor was he in need of fattening up.

"Thanks, Alfred. These look great," Dick bit into one of his cookies immediately.

Well, if it isn't too bad of me, you are looking a little peaked this evening, young sir."

"Oh, well, I caught the flu last week, and that put me flat on my back for four days," he admitted, ruefully. "But I'm all better now," he added quickly, before he could be lectured about going out on patrol in less than top condition.

"That explains much," Alfred nodded sagely. "You are far too thin."

"The flu? You should have called," Bruce insisted. "Alfred could have come to get you. You could have recuperated here, where there are people to help you."

Oddly enough, a grin flitted across Dick's face. "I was well taken care of. No worries about that. In fact, compared to some of my fellow officers, I was back up and working in half the time. As for weight, I don't think I lost any despite being sick. If anything, I probably put on a pound or two."

"Really? Was it this new girl in your life who took care of you?" Bruce watched his son's face. He was willing to bet good money that he was right.

Alfred looked over at Dick, interested. "What's this? You've found yourself a new girlfriend, Master Dick? If she is so considerate at to look after you while you've been ill, then I must say that I approve of her wholeheartedly already."

* * *

Suddenly, Dick wasn't sure he was ready to share the knowledge of Elle just yet. He knew that as soon as Bruce had a name, the man would be researching the woman as if she were some new super villain. Dick wanted the opportunity to get to know her over the course of time spent with her. But it was nice to know that both men approved of her based upon the little he had let spill.

And she was pretty considerate. Elle had dropped by every day that he had been ill; checking to see that he had everything he needed, and to bring him home-cooked meals. When he was back on his feet, he had been so busy at work and then as Nightwing, he had only managed to take her out for an evening once since he'd recovered. Unlike their previous date, no one was injured during the course of this one. Elle had rediscovered her gracefulness, now that she wasn't in a canoe, and the evening had been filled with easy talk, laughter, and fun.

Both men were staring at him with such encouragement, however, Dick felt bad about disappointing them. Still, he wanted to preserve his privacy for a little while longer. He decided upon a compromise, instead.

"How about I bring her by in a couple of weeks to meet you? You can learn all about her, then." He was taking a chance, not talking this over with Elle first, but he thought he could get her to agree to it. He didn't think she had ever met a stranger. Her easy-going charm made friends wherever she went.

Bruce's eyes narrowed on him. Great, Dick thought. He had a feeling that he would need to check his apartment for bugs and spy cameras over the next few days. He took another bite of cookie to hide his smirk. Making Bruce crazy with curiosity for a couple of weeks would be worth it.

"Quiet evening in Gotham, was it, sir?" Alfred changed the subject smoothly, sensing that the young master wanted to keep his secrets a while longer.

"Ah, yes," Bruce smirked. He had noticed that Dick smoothly gotten around answering his earlier question about whether or not he had had a hand in the evening's business. "Apparently we had a mysterious person going around Gotham this evening taking down criminals, and leaving the scene before Tim and I could even show up."

Alfred frowned at that. "A mysterious personage, sir?"

"Perhaps Dick might shed some light on the subject," Bruce murmured.

"This sounds to be an interesting tale. I am ready, young sir,"

Dick blushed, in spite of himself. "Ah, perhaps Bruce can enlighten you, Alfred, since he apparently has it all worked out."

"So, you aren't going to admit it," Bruce asked, amused.

Alfred lifted a brow, his attention moving back and forth between the two men. "Are you suggesting that the young master had something to do with your mystery hero, sir?"

"Or as Tim calls him, our crime-fighting fairy," Bruce smirked, struggling to keep his chuckles contained at the look on Dick's face at his new title.

"I am not a fairy," he burst out finally, laughing. "I just kept on running into criminals on my way to locate you."

"You would have found us readily enough had you slowed down long enough for us to arrive," Bruce pointed out. "We estimated our time of arrival was more or less two minutes after you had already fled the scene."

"I wasn't fleeing," Dick protested. "I simply wasn't dawdling."

Bruce nearly snorted cocoa through is nose. "Dawdling?"

Dick grinned. "Hey! Alfred uses it!"

"Sorry," Bruce waved the man in question away. He managed to not spew his drink. "It is just one of those words that look better on paper than used in actual speech. You know, like 'comeuppance'."

"I wonder how you have managed not to drown yourself in your beverages in the past whenever I have used either word," Alfred queried, dryly.

"It sounds okay when you say it, Alfred," Bruce answered.

"Must be that dry English accent," Dick volunteered. "One can get away with saying all sorts of things when keeping a stiff upper lip."

"You were telling us about your magic wand, Master Dick," Alfred reminded him while maintaining his poise.

Bruce snorted again, his cup rattling in its saucer. He gave up trying to drink it, and just set it down on the coffee table. He swiped at the stray droplets on his turtleneck as he choked.

"I assume you are staying the night, young sir," Alfred inquired, as he removed the cocoa from Bruce's reach.

"It's too late to start back tonight. You should spend the night. You can have a good breakfast, and borrow one of the cars to go to work," Bruce offered. "Tim will be dropping by in the morning as well. He'd love to see you, even if it is for just a meal."

Dick set down his empty cup. "I have plans for tomorrow evening. I wouldn't be able to return the car until Friday night."

"You can join us for patrol afterwards. Damian would be thrilled," Bruce commented, knowing the idea of working a patrol with his youngest brother would tempt Dick to stay another night. Maybe then he could tease some more information out of his eldest about this miracle woman he'd begun dating.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dick stood up and stretched. "What's for breakfast?"

"I was thinking we might have French toast with extra cinnamon," Alfred winked at the younger man. It had been Master Dick's favorite breakfast food since he had arrived on their doorstep sixteen years before.

"Yes!" Dick made a fist. "Much better than toaster pastries."

* * *

Alfred watched the two men head toward the stairs together, feeling relief flood his limbs for the first time in months. He had met someone else. Possibly given her his heart . . . Alfred had not met her yet, but felt overwhelming gratefulness to her for returning the joy to the young master's life. He prayed that this young woman took better care of that fragile organ than did the previous owner.


	8. The Revelation

**This chapter includes another favorite song of mine. I do NOT own this song. I just like it a LOT, and thought it would enhance the story. It is called "Hold On" written by Michael Buble', Alan Chang, and Amy Foster-Gillies, and performed by Michael Buble'. You can find it on his album entitled "Crazy Love". Look it up and have a listen. It is a beautifully romantic song, as Dick can attest to.**

* * *

Dick stood on the sidewalk outside of Chez Donovan's feeling a little nervous. It was still an hour before Elle was scheduled to perform, and already the line of people stretched halfway down the block. The restaurant had recently become reservation only to prevent people from doing what he had done several weeks ago, taking a table and just waiting for ten o'clock.

If Elle hadn't called him, and told him the situation, Dick would have probably been standing at the end of the line until his "turn" to enter came somewhere around eleven. Instead, she had promised him his table would always be held for him for as long as he still planned to be there. He had, of course, and had called the restaurant earlier in the evening with a special request.

"Wow! This place looks packed," came a familiar voice behind him. "Are you sure we can get in?"

Dick turned and smiled at his "dinner date". "I was wondering if you'd make it."

Bruce stopped beside his son, and shook his hand. "Parking was a bit of a problem."

Dick frowned. "Didn't Alfred bring you? I wanted him to come, as well."

"He would have, but he knew you would have dragged him protesting from the car. You had to know Alfred would balk at having dinner with the two of us out when we can't even get him to join us in the dining room at home."

"I thought he would make the exception," Dick shrugged, disappointed.

Bruce slapped him on the back. "Well, I'm here," he said, eyeing the crowd. "Um, you did say we were going to have dinner, correct? By the time we make it to the door, the restaurant will be closed, unless you made a reservation."

Dick grinned. "I didn't think of it. But who knows," he teased. "Maybe a table will magically open up when the owner hears that billionaire-philanthropist, Bruce Wayne, has come to grace their restaurant with his presence. You could, perhaps, grease a few palms."

Bruce frowned, hesitating. "Uh, Dick, you know I don't like to use my wealth like that." He was rather insulted, in fact.

"I have seen you do it before," he tugged on the man's arm to get him moving. "But usually you have had two or three women on your arm at the time. So, don't I rate a bribe?"

Bruce felt the stirrings of anger begin. "That was done to project a certain image for the paparazzi. I don't see any cameras here."

Dick laughed, and pushed the billionaire-philanthropist between the two new bouncers. One of the new employees, moved to block his path. "Do you have a reservation," the hulking behemoth asked.

"Dick Grayson," he announced to the brute in the tuxedo.

"Oh, Mister Grayson, sir! My apologies. Do come in. I believe your usual table is waiting for you." The hard expression of the man turned swiftly into one of fawning as he quickly pulled the door open for the gentlemen.

Dick had difficulty not laughing outright at Bruce's face. He knew Elle had to be behind "Igor's" attitude reversal. She probably did it as a joke on him, since she didn't know he was bringing a guest with him this evening; although, she likely would have done it anyway even if she had. Either way, it couldn't have worked out more perfectly if he had planned this himself!

He looked at the man's name tag as he passed. He would be seeing him on a regular basis if he and Elle were to continue dating. Dick's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled to a halt.

"Your name is really Igor?" He hadn't meant to say "really", but it had slipped out in his shock.

The giant grinned, and leaned down to whisper in a conspiratorial manner. "Actually, it's Dennis. One of the entertainers thought that this would be more intimidating to the rowdy club crowd."

Now Dick did laugh. He knew exactly who made that suggestion. "Carry on, Igor," he waved a royal hand. Igor/Dennis smiled, and bowed his head as Dick and a gaping Bruce continued past.

Shannon, one of the hostesses, recognized him immediately, and was apparently in on the joke. "Mr. Grayson," she called him, instead of her normal "Hey, Dick".

"It's a pleasure to see you again. Your usual table is waiting, sir. Right this way." Shannon grabbed two menus, waving at Robert, the head waiter.

Robert, wearing a stoic expression of which even Alfred would approve, made his way quickly to Dick's table, waving for assistance. Two more waiters appeared immediately, pouring chilled water into the crystal goblets, and holding out the chairs for Dick and a rather stunned Bruce.

"So good of you to join us this evening, sir," Robert nodded to both gentlemen. "Will you be staying after dinner for the show?"

Dick nodded, afraid that he would laugh out loud should he attempt to speak. Actually, Robert had been the one he had spoken to when he had called earlier, explaining that he was bringing family to watch Elle's show. Dick had sworn the man to secrecy, stating he had wanted Elle to be able to impress his father without making her nervous. He had thought that introductions would be easier in this setting than dragging the poor girl up to Wayne Manor. She likely wouldn't be overwhelmed by old money, but meeting family members tended to be fraught with tension. Now, the thought was occurring to him that perhaps this whole royal charade had been Robert's idea. He didn't know the man had it in him.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Robert winked at him. "Very good, sir. Daniel will be your waiter this evening."

Dick glanced over and saw Daniel placing himself a discreet distance away. His eyebrows rose up to meet his hairline. The waiter usually covered three other tables besides his own. Tonight, apparently, Daniel was to dedicate himself to Dick's table alone.

After Bruce perused the menu, and the two placed their orders, he leaned over to speak. "I'm impressed. Even I don't generally get this kind of royal treatment when I go out."

Sheepish, Dick admitted, "It is a bit of a surprise to me, as well."

Dinner was wonderful, as usual. A complimentary bottle of vintage port was sent to their table from the owner. Dick hoped the bottle was truly complimentary since he knew from Alfred that this particular bottle went for $300. He glanced at Bruce, and was gratified to see him relaxed as he sipped the after dinner wine with appreciation.

"I have to admit, Dick, that I'm impressed," Bruce commented. "I didn't think that Bludhaven had a good section of town, let alone a restaurant of this caliber. Dinner was easily one of the best I have had the opportunity to enjoy. So, are you going to tell me how you managed all this?"

_No, because I'm not certain how I _did_ manage all this_. Of course, he wouldn't say that out loud. All _he_ had managed to do was to call up the restaurant and tell the head waiter he was bringing his father to see Elle perform, and they would probably have dinner while they were there. So, he did the only thing left for him to do . . . He changed the subject.

"We have to stay, and see the show while we're here," he said. "That's what that line was for out front. People who want to listen to live music, and dance. I hear that the music is fantastic. Tonight is supposed to be one of their jazz nights, and I know you like jazz."

* * *

Bruce looked at his son suspiciously. The kid was up to something. When he initially called him up and invited him to a late dinner, Bruce hadn't thought much of it at the time. He figured that after so long of not talking, and then months of Dick's disinterest in everything that wasn't his job or his mask, that the younger man simply wanted to make up for lost time; to get back into living. Then it occurred to him that this might be Dick's way of introducing him to this new girl he was seeing. Eager to see Dick happy for the first time in what felt like forever, Bruce had accepted with alacrity. When no young woman had presented herself, however, Bruce had to reassess his theory. Perhaps, his initial reaction was the correct one, but . . .

While Bruce admitted that Chez Donovan's was indeed top notch in food and service, the kind of service that had been showered upon the two of them was unusual. No other table had had a waiter exclusively dedicated to it, and the bowing and scraping the staff had demonstrated to Dick had been excessive for a poor beat cop. Even with _his_ reputation and wealth, Bruce had seldom seen this kind of attention bestowed upon him. Although, he didn't know the specifics as yet, Bruce was certain that he was being set up in some way.

"Yes," Bruce agreed, carefully. "I do like jazz."

The owner, Brian Donovan, chose this moment to swoop in and greet his two diners. "Mr. Grayson," Brian smiled. "I hope you and your guest are enjoying yourselves this evening."

"Mr. Donovan, you have exceeded my expectations. The food was exceptional, and the service wonderful." Dick lavished praise upon the restaurant. "I think even Bruce's exacting standards were more than met."

"Is that so, Mr. Wayne?" Donovan asked.

"Incredible, Mr. Donovan," Bruce spoke sincerely. "It was marvelous dining experience."

Brian was pleased. "You are both staying, I assume? I would hate for you to miss the entertainment we have for you, Mr. Wayne. Your son always stays when he joins us for dinner."

Bruce tilted his head at this invitation. Of course, it was perfectly normal for the business owner to wish his paying guests to continue enjoying their experience. But something was up, and he was beginning to get a glimmer of light.

"I wouldn't miss it," he assured both the owner and Dick. Bruce noticed when his son grinned and settled back in his chair with his glass of port, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening. _Yes_, he thought, _the clouds were parting_ . . .

Donovan departed, stopping by to speak a few words at a couple of other tables before stepping up to the stage. By this time, the dinner crowd had thinned considerably, the tables cleared, and the people here for the music alone now entered. Within a few minutes, the atmosphere had changed from relaxing to anticipatory.

* * *

Elle was running behind. The whole day had been bad, but to make matters worse, she had already been running late when she had been forced to wait an inordinate amount of time for a cab. It only followed that they would then have to make a detour several blocks out of the way on top of it all. By the time she had finally arrived, she had less than fifteen minutes to change, and no time to confer with Morris. Usually, she had time to warm up, go through possible changes in the song line-up, and get ready to take the stage.

Walking into her dressing room, she found several bouquets waiting for her with a platter bearing a half a dozen notes and cards. Although she had only a limited amount of time to find an outfit and change, she couldn't resist. She went to the dozen red roses blocking her view of her mirror. She plucked the card out. Looking for the now familiar script, she tried not to feel disappointment when the hand that wrote this card didn't match Dick's. She read it anyway. After all, someone went to some trouble and no little expense to send the flowers.

"A classic rose for a classic beauty."

Her lips puckered with a vague sense of annoyance. She wasn't blind, nor was she unrealistically modest; Elle knew she was attractive enough. She had even received a couple of invitations to take up modeling at one time or another. But she had never been comfortable with compliments. Being who she was meant no compliment could be taken at face value. Besides, looks were fleeting; easily lost through fate or time. Would this person still want her should her beauty be suddenly stripped from her? Somehow she doubted it. If they wanted to compliment her, why not her voice?

She didn't have time to look through the rest, so she moved to the rack that held her outfits. There was another that held outfits and accessories of the other female singers and band members. She chose an olive green, wraparound blouse that hugged her curves down to her hips, and ended with a loosely-tied bow on the front of one hip with a long, black, velvet skirt with sheer, black, chiffon panels placed throughout the lower portion. She slipped on a pair of black, slingback, open-toed heels. The look was elegant, but comfortable.

"Ten minutes, Elle." Donovan's voice came through the door.

As Elle put her hair up into a loose bun, she eyed some of the other flowers and notes. Maybe he sent her one of those? She moved to a bouquet of daylilies, plucking the card out with slightly nervous hands. The disappointment was harder to conceal this time.

"Your voice speaks to my soul . . ."

That, at least, started out well. If only the sender had stopped right there . . .

"If only your body would also."

Oh, yuck! Disgusted, Elle threw the card and the flowers in the trash. Were they all like this? She went to the platter and started tearing through the notes on the platter. Of all of them, only one was a song request with a pretty compliment on her voice. The rest were requests for private introductions, heavy with innuendo. All but the song request followed the lilies. The irony, that she had practically begged for Dick to ask her out, and now she was being inundated with requests for dates (if one could call them that), was not lost on her.

She touched up her makeup, and grabbed her water bottle as she went out. Donovan met her in the hall.

"You look ravishing, Elle. You are going to knock their socks off," Brian grinned, giving her a little peck on the top of her head. "Did you see all of the flowers and cards?"

She sighed. "Yes," she said, with a pout. "They're from everyone but Dick."

"He's here, at least," Brian smirked.

"Is he?"

The relief she felt at that knowledge was startling. She knew she had been tense, but she hadn't realized up to that point that she had been feeling a little afraid. She wondered if this was what her father had warned her about. She had always thought her mother and grandmother had gotten out of the business because they had met and married their husbands, and wanted to concentrate on starting their families, but when she had told her father that she had gotten a job singing, he had told her they had dropped out of the limelight for different reasons.

He had told her that neither woman had been able to handle their growing fame; that their fans became overzealous and some even a bit rabid in their attempts to gain access to each of the singers, respectively. Elle could barely remember what her mother looked like without a photograph, but she could remember the woman's voice. It remained her strongest memory; the voice of her mother in her head perfect even sixteen years later. Her grandmother, however, Elle had never heard sing before. She knew that the woman had once been a famous opera singer in her day because she had seen the advertisements hanging in one of the rooms in her grandparents' home in Italy. Elle had attempted many times to get the woman to sing to her, but was only ever met with firm refusals. Now, she wondered a little if what her father said had been the truth rather than yet another attempt to prevent her from leaving home.

Thinking back at some of the suggestions she had read in some of the notes, Elle thought it might be a good idea to send a message to the men in the audience that she was off the market. The idea that there were seven or eight men out there that felt it was appropriate to proposition a woman they didn't know, one they had only seen from afar, was incredibly intimidating. Elle had never had to deal with men chasing her in this fashion. Even if her escorts had been less than perfect dates, they had respected her as a person. Of course, they knew what repercussions might happen should they be anything less that perfect gentlemen in her company, too. Anyway, she sincerely hoped Dick didn't mind a repeat performance so soon after the first one. If it went over like it did before, Brian, at least would appreciate it. Business had really begun picking up after that night.

She wrote a note with the song title, and where it would appear on the playlist. She knew that the band had the music with them, but they had been practicing it together for a while now. She knew it was ready. As she finished, Brian was announcing her to a very receptive audience. Taking a deep breath, Elle pasted on a big grin, and walked out on stage with a wave as the intro to her first song started. She paused only to hand of the note to Morris, before stepping up to the mike.

* * *

Dick had to tear his eyes from Elle to check on Bruce's reaction. It was everything he had hoped. Bruce, never demonstrative even at the best of times, was watching her with narrowed eyes and the tiniest upturn to the corners of his mouth. He glanced down, and sure enough, Bruce's foot was tapping; keeping time to the music.

"So, what do you think of the show so far," Dick leaned over to ask.

"She makes me wish that Wayne Enterprises had a record producing department. What was her name again?" Bruce told him, indicating the singer with a nod of his head.

"El-Ella . . . Arabella Hamilton," Dick stammered.

Bruce looked away from the singer to glance at the younger man. "You forgot her name?"

Dick laughed. "Well, actually, she tends to make me forget my own name when I'm listening to her."

Bruce looked back up at the sultry performer, and agreed. "She is definitely an up and comer. I can't imagine it will take too long at this rate for a record producer to snatch her up."

Dick nodded, but frowned at the thought. There was a local record producing company in Gotham, but if Elle was as successful as she deserved to be, she might be required to move to L.A. or maybe New York City. He didn't know if he could follow her, or if she would even want him to.

The fifth song ended, and a new song began. Dick knew because he was counting. Elle tended to take a break after every ten songs or so. He was hoping she would come to the table as she did the previous week so that he could introduce her to Bruce. He blinked as she set the mike down and switched on the wireless mike that fit over her ear. The only time she had ever done that was . . . He sat up straight, and set his glass down. Elle was moving to the steps as she began singing.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Elle poured her heart into the song she had chosen as she moved down the steps; her eyes unerringly locating their target. If she noticed Dick's dining partner, it didn't show.

"_Didn't they always say we were the lucky ones._

_I guess that we were once, babe, we were once._

_But luck will leave you cause it is a faithless friend,_

_And in the end, when life has got you down,_

_You've got someone here that you can wrap your arms around_."

Dick slid his seat back, but didn't get up immediately to meet her this time. Instead he let her come to him, curious to what she would do. His eyes were riveted onto her face; searching her eyes and finding . . . that something . . . That something special he saw every time she looked at him. Whatever it was, it was his. Of that, he was certain.

Elle smiled as she sang. When she reached him, she slid her hand from one shoulder to the other as she moved behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, singing into his ear, the mike doing its job to ensure that the entire audience could listen in to the song she was dedicating to this one man. After a moment, she moved in between him and the table; leaning against it as she faced him, and held onto his hand.

"_So hold on to me tight._

_Hold on to me tonight._

_We are stronger here together_

_Than we could ever be alone._

_So hold on to me._

_Don't you ever let me go._"

If there were still people in the building, to Dick and Elle, they ceased to exist. As had happened before when she focused upon him, the world melted away, leaving the couple alone with each other and the music. The words of the song touched him in ways never felt before, and when he smiled at her, his heart was there in his eyes. And he saw in hers that her adoration was reflected back at him.

"_There's a thousand ways for things to fall apart._

_But it's no one's fault. No, it's not my fault._

_Maybe all the plans we made might not work out,_

_But I have no doubt, even though it's hard to see._

_I've got faith in us, and I believe in you and me._"

As she picked up the chorus a second time, Dick stood up. Unable to resist for another moment, he swept her up into his arms, and began to dance; holding her close. Elle looked up at him, not caring where he took her as long as he continued to hold her close.

"_So hold on to me tight._

_Hold on, I promise it'll be all right._

_Cause it's you and me together,_

_And baby, all we've got is time._

_So hold on to me._

_Hold on to me tonight_."

Bruce grinned as the lovely, young woman walked straight up to their table. For a moment, color flooded Dick's face. He moved his chair out, but didn't move as Ms. Hamilton serenaded him. His grin faltered, however, when he caught the look in the singer's eyes. Bruce sat up in his chair, and stared, unable to believe what he was seeing right there before God and everyone . . . Either the woman was an Oscar-worthy actress, or she was in love with his son. When Dick suddenly whisked her into a dance, and Bruce could see more than a glimpse of his face, he sucked in his breath. The feeling was returned! It didn't take a detective to deduce that in the space of a few weeks, Dick had fallen head over heels for the woman in his arms!

"_There's so many dreams that we have given up._

_Take a look at all we've got, and with this kind of love,_

_What we've got here is enough._"

At the end of the bridge, the music swelled to a crescendo. Elle's voice soared, and as their hearts took flight, Dick lifted her off of her feet; twirling her around in circles. Elle tilted her face up to the ceiling, her arms lifted as wide as she could, trusting the one who held her to keep her safe. She grinned down at him as he slowly lowered her back onto her feet, and back into the dance.

"_So hold on to me tonight._

_Hold on, I promise it'll be all right._

_Cause we are stronger here together_

_Than we could ever be alone._

_So hold on to me,_

_Don't you ever let me go._

_Hold on to me . . ._

_It's gonna be all right._

_Hold on to me . . . tonight._

_They always say we were the lucky ones . . ._"

Dick lowered her into a dip as they stared into one another's eyes. The last note ended to a pregnant pause; silence that continued for several long seconds . . . The roar of applause, when it came, made them jump. Still holding her, Dick grinned in delight. Remembering the regret he felt at not kissing her at the end of their dance the first time, Dick kissed her now; quickly and impulsively, before setting her back onto her feet.

The crowd went wild. They were on their feet laughing and applauding the couple, happy they had gotten to witness what could only be described as magic.

Elle was laughing along with them. Her arm went up to signal the band, and the next song began; this one faster and far more upbeat. She winked at Dick, and swirled back into the crowd, singing and dancing through the tables and dancing couples to eventually make her way to the stage. Whatever fear and discomfort she might have felt at the beginning of the evening had been washed away in the arms of the man who had claimed her heart in one magical instant.

Happiness coursed through her, and as if somehow connected to her through some sort of electrical charge, the audience, too, was swept up and away in the emotion. It was a party like none before it.

* * *

Dick turned back to his table, and paused at the look on Bruce's face. The older man was also standing and clapping with the rest of the audience, but he looked totally blown away. Dick grinned. It wasn't often he could surprise Batman, after all. He slapped Bruce on the back, laughing.

"So, what do you think of her now?"

"So,_ that's _her!" The girl who brought his son back to life; the woman who chased the depression from his boy, and replaced it with joy . . . Bruce smiled. Of course, he liked her! How could he do anything but?


	9. The Invitation

Dick and Bruce stood near the entrance waiting for Elle to finish up. They weren't the only stragglers, he noticed. Three other men were dragging their feet as they slowly made their way to the door. The men kept looking back over their shoulders toward the stage. They made Dick want to growl a warning, but he kept it contained even as he continued to watch them.

Elle had made it plain throughout the evening that she was with _him_. If someone was too blind and deaf to have figured it out from the song she had sang to him, then the fact that she came to his table during a couple of her breaks should have. Although Elle wasn't exceptionally demonstrative, she was openly affectionate; holding his hand, looking into his eyes, giving him a hug and a peck in greeting and before returning to the stage. How these men couldn't get it that she was taken, he didn't know.

_Taken_? _Was she_? He questioned that a moment, in his head and his heart. Yeah, they went out on a few dates, but three weeks did not a relationship necessarily make. But Dick thought about her when she wasn't around – a lot. And when she was near . . . _Yeah_, he thought, _she's taken_. And so was he. Perhaps he should clarify things with her. It would be nice to know if they were on the same page.

"She has fans, I see," Bruce observed, nodding at the loiterers.

"Mm," Dick's reply was noncommittal. He wished Bruce had kept his observation to himself. Hearing it from another made it more real that there were other men lusting after his woman.

He shook his head to clear it of jealousy. Listening to his internal voice almost made him laugh, however. He sounded like some backwoods Neanderthal. He glanced up to see Bruce smirking at him.

"You don't have to say it," he frowned. "I've already realized that I've got it bad."

"But you can take heart over the fact that she has it just as bad, I would think," Bruce's smirk turned into a smile.

"Does she?" Dick's voice sounded pathetically hopeful even to his own ears.

"I think it is obvious to everyone but you," Bruce laughed. "It is also obvious what you see in her."

Unbeknownst to him, Dick's face turned a little dreamy. "Just wait until you can sit down and talk to her, without loud music, interruptions, and the noise from a few hundred voices. She's smart and funny and sweet."

"That was what you've been looking for all along? Sweet," Bruce teased.

"I-I don't know. I can't describe it. Maybe it's too new yet, but when I'm with her I feel comfortable, peaceful, relaxed . . . and amused. Definitely amused! Do you know what I mean?" He paused for a moment. "Well, probably not. Elle makes me feel like I'm home. Does that make any sense?"

"Elle . . . You've called her that a few times tonight," Bruce commented. "I might have expected 'Bella'."

Dick shrugged. "That's what she calls herself. But, now that you mention it, I've heard her addressed as Bella before. I think it was part of a message on her machine from her father."

Dick perked up. Ella walked out from behind the curtain, and was making her way down the steps. She was dressed casually and for the weather in a long, red, turtleneck sweater over jeans and knee-high, brown leather boots; a brown leather jacket over one arm, her hair loose down her back. A couple that had been speaking to the owner moved to intercept her. He watched Elle smile sweetly at the couple as she spoke to them. After a minute, she shook both of their hands and the couple turned and left.

As Elle drew closer, the three male fans approached her simultaneously. Dick frowned as her smile faltered. She actually retreated a step. She was scared, he realized suddenly. But why? He shook the question off. The reason didn't matter as much to him as it did to make certain she felt protected. He started forward, and felt Bruce moving behind him.

"C'mon, baby. Why won't you give me your number," asked the first man.

"Because I don't want you calling me," Elle told him matter-of-factly. "You can come here, and listen to me sing, but I don't date the customers."

The second man snorted. "That's a lie. We all saw you over at that one guy's table; the one you sang for."

"I'm not a customer so much as I'm her boyfriend. The lady's taken, so hit the road. It's closing time." Dick moved to Elle's side, slipping an arm around her waist possessively. She was trembling, he noted. Had one of the bastards' said something threatening to her before he came into hearing range?

The third man caught movement in his peripheral vision, and turned to find Bruce standing slightly behind him. No fool, he; he recognized two well-built men who carried themselves as if they knew what they were doing.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Hamilton. You sing like an angel." The third man bowed his head to her, spun on his heel, and left. "You all have yourselves a good night."

Elle nodded. "Thank you," she told him graciously. "You take care going home."

The first man glanced over at Bruce also; sizing him up. They were of a similar height and build. "What about that guy," he snarled. "Is he your boyfriend, too?"

"I'm the boyfriend's father," Bruce rumbled, uncrossing his arms. To those who knew how to fight, they would recognize that he was moving into a fighting stance.

The second guy took a step back. He glanced over at Dick. The boyfriend removed his arm from the singer's waist, and moved slightly in front of her. In spite of the fancy suits, he realized that both men were capable and willing to fight them.

"Well, okay," he grumbled. "We didn't realize you had a boyfriend. We just thought he was part of the show, you know?"

The first guy gaped at his friend. "What are you doing? These guys ain't nothing! They're just a couple of rich pansies. We can take them!"

The second guy wasn't so sure. "He's her boyfriend, Joe. She's not going to want you, even if you do manage to bloody his nose. C'mon, let's go to my place and get some beer. I can call up Nancy. She said she has a friend visiting from out of town."

"Joe" hesitated; looking seriously as if he were considering trying to take on both men without the help of his buddy. After a second thought, however, he grunted, and turned to follow his friend out the door.

Brian walked up as the three of them watch the two men leave. Elle leaned against Dick's back, resting her forehead on his shoulder, and sighed heavily; the tension visibly draining out of her body.

What's going on here," he asked. "Elle, were those men bothering you?"

"No," she breathed. "It's okay, Brian. They were just leaving."

"Honey, that's why I hired the bouncers," he said, sympathetically. "It's great that the people love you so much, but that doesn't give them the right to harass you afterwards."

Dick shot him a startled look. "_That's_ why you hired the bouncers?" He turned and slipped an arm around Elle's waist again; drawing her close. "Has this happened before?"

"No," Elle shook her head.

"Yes," Brian said, at the same time.

Dick and Bruce frowned.

"Which is it," Bruce asked.

Brian touched Elle's arm, giving her a look. "Yes."

"It wasn't serious," Elle offered. "He just wanted to ask me out."

"But he wouldn't take no for an answer," Brian added.

"He was a little persistent, yes, but nothing came of it," Elle insisted, not wanting to get Dick upset.

"Elle, he wouldn't let you get into the cab!" Brian turned back to Dick and Bruce, certain that they would share his concern. "The cabbie had his dispatcher dial 911. Robert, Morris, and I came out right about that time. I don't know what was wrong with the guy, but he refused to leave the premises; refused to leave Elle alone."

"I don't think it was that serious." Elle was blushing. "Things just escalated because you guys came out and got involved."

"Damn straight we got involved," Brian yelled at her. "He kept trying to grab your arm. Even though the three of us got between you, he still kept trying to reach through to you. The guy was crazy!" Brian looked back at Dick. "Even the cabbie was worried enough to get out of his car to help us corral the guy. The police finally arrived a few minutes after that, and carted his ass off. But until they had cuffed him, and was hauling him away, he never stopped trying to reach for her!"

Dick looked at her, alarmed. "Is this true? Did he get his hands on you? Did he hurt you?"

* * *

Embarrassed, Elle ducked her head, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears threatening to fall. The episode was only a couple of days old. She had managed to get through it and get home before she had lost it completely and finally allowed herself to cry. The things the man had said to her before the cab driver had arrived had alarmed her, and the way he had continued to try to grab her had been frightening. All Elle wanted to do was forget it had happened.

She was probably overreacting tonight as well. It was those damned flowers and cards she had gotten earlier. It had made her wary of the men that approached her, even though this time she was still inside the restaurant with a half a dozen people around her. She had been perfectly safe. Why was she letting these things spook her?

"It was nothing, Dick. He was an overzealous fan, is all," she was still trying to convince herself more than she was the others.

Brian looked at her, suspicious. "You had said you were okay, but you never actually said if he had hurt you before we all got there. Did he hurt you?"

"I said that I wasn't, didn't I," Elle insisted. That wasn't a lie, since she didn't actually feel anything until later, once the adrenaline rush had subsided. The long scratches on her arm came when the guy had grabbed her arm when she had first refused to go with him for coffee. She had jerked her arm out of his grasp, and his fingernails had left grooves in her skin as he struggled to keep his grip on her. She had shoved her sleeves down immediately afterward for protection, in case he managed to grab her again. Her cab had arrived then, and Brian and the others came barreling out of the restaurant almost immediately after that.

Dick recognized the lie immediately. The eyes darting to the left; the hesitation in her voice; the quickening of her breath were just three of the tells, and more than enough for him to know she was hiding something.

"Where did he hurt you," he asked, gently. She was getting spooked by all the attention.

Her eyes darted up to meet his, and then dipped to the floor again. She sighed heavily, and silently slid the left sleeve of her sweater up past her elbow. She wished that they wouldn't make such a fuss over her. The scratches were already healing.

"Oh, my God," Brian gasped. "Elle, why didn't you say anything?"

* * *

Dick eyes widened. Those weren't just scratches, but gouges! He looked at the long grooves that ran nearly the entire length of her forearm, and thought she could have used some stitches. They were healing well, enough. He didn't see any redness to indicate infection, thankfully. She must have cleaned it very well, but he knew without saying that these lines would scar. It was no wonder that she had reacted to those three men the way she had.

"Why didn't you call me," Dick asked. "You should have called me. I would have taken you to the emergency room to get these cleaned and stitched up. They're going to scar," he told her gently.

"Will that bother you," she asked, worriedly. "If they scar?"

He blinked at her. "No! Of course not! But these are deep enough that they should have required medical attention. Now, answer my question, Elle. Why didn't you call me when this happened?"

"You had told me that you were working that night," she reminded him. "I didn't want to bother you if you were in the middle of something important or dangerous."

He had been working that night; as Nightwing, though, not as a police officer. Dick supposed she had a point, but he hated that she didn't feel like she could call him with her own emergency. He made a decision at that moment, that if possible, _and I will do everything I can to make it possible,_ Dick would be here to escort her home from work. If not as Dick, certainly he could watch over her as Nightwing. He could make certain she got into the cab safely, follow her home, and make sure she got into her building without incident.

Bruce had moved closer so that he, too, could see the marks marring her perfect skin. "Scratches and bites made by humans are more prone to infection than those of animals. You were lucky that nothing serious came of it."

Elle scoffed quietly. "I know how to clean a wound. I might have stitched it up myself, but I figured the scar would be more noticeable had I done so. So, I bandaged it for a day or so. It will be fine. Like I told you . . . It was nothing."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and met Dick's gaze. She was a petite, little bit of fluff! How was it that she knew how to clean and stitch wounds? Particularly on herself! That wasn't something the average person could, or _would_ if he could, do . . .

Brian broke in. "That's it. I'm going to hire more bouncers, and have at least two present inside as well as outside. This will not happen again!" The restaurant owner turned on his heel, and stalked back to his office.

Eager to change the subject, Elle pushed her sleeve back over her arm, and turned to Bruce. "So, Mr. Wayne," she smiled at him. "How was your evening? Did you enjoy yourself?"

* * *

Recognizing her attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Bruce allowed himself to be distracted. Her wounds were healing without issue, the owner was taking steps to prevent further problems from occurring, and while she had been fearful of the men earlier, Elle had handled the situation without tears or hysterics. There was no reason to continue to question her. The man who had caused the problem had been arrested already, although he would probably be released earlier than necessary because she hadn't reported the injury to the police when it happened. The men this evening would likely not be back.

"I found it a very pleasant surprise," Bruce commented. "Dick didn't tell me he was going to introduce me to his new girlfriend; only that he wanted me to join him for dinner and some live music. You voice is quite amazing."

Elle smiled with genuine pleasure. She reached for Dick's hand. His hand engulfed hers almost completely. "You aren't alone in that, Mr. Wayne. I had no idea that Dick was bringing a guest with him tonight, let alone that it would be his father."

"Call me Bruce, please," the elder man offered.

Elle hesitated. "That wouldn't seem disrespectful?"

Bruce chuckled. "No, not in the least. It is, after all, what Dick calls me."

"Very well . . . Bruce," Elle tried it out. "You may call me Elle. All my friends do."

"Thank you, Elle," Bruce smiled. "Now, since Dick has been so tight-lipped lately, I suppose he hasn't gotten around to issuing an invitation for the two of you to come for a visit to Gotham City. It would give me the opportunity to get to know you better, and for you it will be a chance to see where he grew up and meet his brothers."

Elle looked over at the man at her side. "Please, say yes," Dick said.

"You have brothers, too?"

"I have three, although you will only be meeting two next weekend," he grinned. "Oh, and Alfred, too!"

"Alfred?" Elle glanced back to Bruce for clarification.

"My butler," Bruce explained. "He, as much as I did, helped to raise Dick. He's family."

Elle grinned and opened her mouth to accept when she remembered that she had a previous engagement next weekend. "Oh, I'm afraid I have a prior engagement next weekend," she admitted, disappointed. "I am supposed to go to a Halloween party next Friday night in Gotham. I promised I would attend more than a month ago. It's supposed to be a rather big event and I already RSVP'ed, and got my costume together. I guess I could try to back out . . ."

Dick blinked. "It's a costume party?"

"Yes," she said, happily. "I'm kind of excited about it. I've only ever been to one masquerade before, and that was at Carnivale in Venice when I was fifteen. My grandparents took me. This promises to be very different than that one . . . Say," she looked at Dick with a sparkle in her eyes. "How would you like to go with me?"

"What?"

"I'm allowed a guest. I know it's kind of short notice and all, but I'm sure we can find you a suitable costume in time. I'll even go pick one up for you, if you like!" Elle was warming up to her subject.

"How about you do both," Bruce interjected, drawing the eyes of the couple. "You said this party is being held in Gotham?

Elle nodded. "Yes."

"Why do you not come for a long weekend to Gotham and go to your party from there?" Bruce explained. "It's only for one evening. You wouldn't have to drive all the way there from Bludhaven, and all the way back after the party. You will still be able to meet the rest of the family, and enjoy spending the weekend together."

Bruce could see by the way Elle lit up, that he had offered her the most tempting proposition he could have made. He knew she was going to accept even before she agreed.

She turned to Dick. "Is that acceptable to you? You wouldn't mind going to the costume party with me?"

To get her to spend an entire weekend with him, even if he had to share her with her friends and his family, he would have promised a hell of a lot more. "I think I can manage that."

"There's no admittance without a costume, you know," she warned. "You would _have_ to wear one to get in."

"For you, anything," Dick promised. It was only later that he found cause to regret that promise. At the moment, however, he was perfectly content to promise her the moon.

"Really," she squealed, excitedly. Thrilled, Elle threw her arms around his neck, laughing delightedly. He was truly the very best boyfriend – ever! It didn't matter that he was her first boyfriend because Elle knew well enough that not many boyfriends would be so accommodating to her wishes.

Bruce turned his head. She sparkled with a light similar to the one he had always found around his son. That they found happiness in such simple things made them, as a couple, shine with a joy so bright that it was a bit difficult for him to look at directly. He didn't know much about the girl yet, but, of course, he would. What he had learned just by watching the two interact together was enough to give him hope. Dick deserved what this young woman offered . . . Comfort, happiness, love . . . and peace. Bruce thought about what he would give for those things himself. Almost anything. Practically everything.

* * *

"So," Dick smiled down at her, when she had released him. "What are you going as?"

"Well," she said, shyly, not wanting to give it away just yet. "It's a themed costume party, you know."

"Really? What's the theme," he asked.

"Superheroes," she beamed at him. "Isn't that great? It's going to be so much fun!"

His smile wilted a little around the edges, and he glanced at Bruce. "Superheroes, eh?"

"Yes, and I have the perfect idea for a costume for you!" The wheels were turning. Dick could see them turning in her beautiful, little head. A strange feeling began in his belly. He thought it might be fear.

Dick slid a second glance at Bruce. The man's face would be comical if it were him that would be going rather than Dick. He suspected that his face looked much the same way. Elle, caught up in her excitement, didn't seem to notice.

"What would that be," Dick asked. With his eyes, he sent a plea to Bruce that said, _help me_!

She grinned at him, but for the first time since he met her, it wasn't a comforting grin. "Oh no," she said, slyly. "It's going to be a surprise!"


	10. A Secret Shared

**It's funny how you can have a map in mind of what is supposed to happen in a chapter, and by the time you are finished with it, it bears no resemblance to the original copy in your head. You start typing, and the next thing you know, your characters come to life and take over without your permission! I hadn't planned for one of Elle's secrets to come out just yet, but she and Dick convinced me to allow it to happen this way. I guess it was time to take their relationship to the next level . . .  
**

* * *

Elle hesitated before packing the box inside her suitcase. It was not at all what she had hoped it would be. Okay, that was the biggest understatement of her life, but what choice did she have? She had searched and searched everywhere that costumes were sold in Bludhaven, and then in desperation had even taken a cab into Gotham City to search there. Had she time, she would have went back to Chicago to search, but alas, it was not to be.

Seriously, was everyone going to the party this year as the same person? She could only find one costume that could possibly fit a man the size of Dick Grayson. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he was built – _Man, was he built_! Yesterday, she had even been desperate enough to consider a different costume altogether, but pretty much everything in his size had been sold out. So, she had taken the one she could find, and prayed it looked better on him than it did when she held it up for inspection.

Of course, it would look better on him. The man was incredible! He could make a paper bag look good . . . And that thought got her all distracted for several long minutes, imagining him walking around in the rain in naught but a paper bag, and how the bag was slowly disintegrating under the torrential onslaught. She sighed, shaking the stupid smile off of her face, and tucking the box firmly in the midst of her clothing.

Closing the lid, Elle looked at herself in the mirror, trying to stave off another panic attack. Was she really going to Gotham City to meet Dick's family? Sure, she had already met his adopted father, and Bruce had seemed very nice and laid back for such a successful businessman. He didn't seem much like her father at all. Cedric Hamilton was driven. He never seemed to take off the power suit, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Her father's entire life was the boardroom.

Her hands smoothed over the extra long, cream-colored sweater she wore over dark brown, knit leggings and her favorite brown boots. She wore a long pendant as an accessory, but Elle thought she looked too drab. Glancing at the clock, she didn't have time for an entire wardrobe change, so she looked at the hanger she tied all her scarves to, and picked out one the color of bright raspberry. She wrapped it around her neck, and liked the pop of color. And just in time, she thought, as her buzzer sounded.

Grabbing her small suitcase and overnight bag, she met Dick at her door. The kiss in greeting was long, and when her knees weakened, she leaned back into the door frame. It was almost enough to make her forget the queasiness in her stomach – almost. She loved Dick's kisses, and they only got better each time, but . . . What if his family didn't like her? What if, once Bruce got to know her, he changed his mind, and didn't want her dating his son? What if . . .

Dick pulled back, a little breathless, and looked at her. "Stop it. They're going to love you. How could they not when I do . . ."

That implication hung there between them for a long silent minute. The flips her stomach had been doing took a new roll. Surely, he didn't mean _that_. But he didn't bother to correct what he knew she must be thinking. He just smiled at her, and leaned in for another kiss.

Her suitcase had been set on the floor beside them, but her overnight bag slipped from her limp fingers to thump on the carpeted hallway; its existence abruptly forgotten. She wrapped her arms around his neck; her fingers slid through his hair. Neither noticed when the neighbor's door opened, or the couple that walked by them snickering in amusement, or when the elevator had closed behind them a short time later.

When the kiss ended, Elle was in a relaxed, near liquid state of bliss. Dick leaned his forehead against her. "What were we supposed to be doing again?"

Elle smiled and pulled him down for another kiss. When he pulled back a third time several minutes later, he laughed. "We better go, or we aren't going to go anywhere except back into your apartment."

A few minutes later, he was tucking her luggage into the back of a sporty, gray import.

"Is this an Aston Martin," she asked, already knowing what it was.

"Bruce let me borrow it to pick you up in," he explained. "He must like you for him to hand me the keys to one of his classic imports."

She ran an appreciative hand along its side. "The feeling is mutual . . . and I like his car, too."

Dick snorted, as he moved to open her door. Elle hummed in delight as she slid onto the buttery leather seat. She moved to grab the seat belt, but Dick beat her to it. Taking his time, he leaned across her to fasten it. She blew into his ear, making him jump and bump his head on the car's roof. Elle slapped a hand over her mouth attempting to cover her laughter.

"I'm sorry," she said, but it was kind of hard to believe her while she was giggling. "Kiss it and make it better," she offered.

"You're forgiven," he told her, darting in for another quick kiss.

Minutes later, they pulled out into traffic. Maybe now that they were on the road, they would actually make good time. It was too dangerous to kiss the driver while the car was moving, after all.

* * *

"So, what's your father like," Dick asked, after they had crossed the bridge into Gotham City. They still had another half an hour to go to reach the manor, and he decided to indulge his curiosity a bit.

Normally, he tended to steer the topic of conversation clear of family because of the secrets his held, but Bruce created a kind of conversational sabbatical when he invited Elle over for a weekend. Oddly enough, he noticed, Elle had appeared to be just as tight-lipped about her family as well.

"I told you about him," she murmured, sleepily.

"You told me he planned to kidnap you and force you into marriage if you couldn't prove your success," Dick reminded her.

"He's a businessman," she offered. "He loves wheeling and dealing; schmoozing clients; negotiating a better deal."

"I meant as a father," he clarified.

Elle turned in her seat as far as the seat belt allowed, rolling her head on the headrest, until she faced him. She studied him for several, long moments before speaking. "Doting. Involved. Generous. Overprotective. Confining . . ."

"Confining?"

"It relates to his over-protectiveness."

He glanced over at her. She looked adorable. "How so?"

She rolled her head to stare out the front window. Just when Dick thought she wouldn't tell him, she spoke. "It's a long story. It stems from my mother's death."

Ouch! Dick winced. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. "Why? _You_ didn't kill her."

Dick's brain stuttered on that statement. _What did she mean by that_? She had told him that her mother had died in a car accident. Her odd phrasing, however, made him wonder. Maybe he shouldn't delve into what must be a painful memory, but he had discovered that Elle was an expert at deflecting questions she didn't want to answer. If she didn't want to talk about it, he was positive they would be discussing the impact of foreign policies on the sale of dandruff shampoo in a few minutes . . . And he would be surprisingly fascinated by the topic, he was certain.

"How did you say your mother died? You said something about a car accident," he asked carefully, testing the waters.

Minutes ticked by. Okay, he thought. She wasn't going to deflect the question; she was simply going to refuse to answer it. His heart clenched in silent sympathy for the pain she must still be experiencing after such a devastating loss.

"That isn't entirely accurate," Elle finally answered, her voice so soft, it was only just heard over the car's engine.

"Which part," he asked. He was suddenly desperate to know more about this woman, even the sad parts.

"The accident part."

He looked at her. She was staring at the buildings moving past the passenger side of the window. "It wasn't an accident," he said.

A sigh. "No."

He didn't say anything. For a long moment, she didn't either.

Her hand moved over his on the gear shift. "I never told anyone that before. No one knows . . . th-that it was anything other than an accident."

A horrible suspicion made its presence known inside Dick's head. "Elle. How do you know it wasn't an accident?" He glanced over at her again. The sunlight sparkled like diamonds against the tears on her cheek.

_God, he was such an asshole_! He looked and found a place to pull off. He turned into a parking garage, pausing only to get the ticket, and driving straight to the top. Only five cars were parked there. Dick parked in the corner farthest from the small cluster of vehicles.

He turned in his seat to face her. She was even beautiful when she cried. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, hurting for her; with her. He took her hand in both of his, just holding it between his; keeping it warm.

"You were there, weren't you?"

She nodded, but still refused to look at him.

"You said you were . . ."

"Seven," she answered. "I was seven."

She was a year younger than he had been when he watched his own parents die. Sixteen years ago . . . Dick's breath caught, as a thought flashed across his mind. Her mother was killed the same year that his parents had died! He had been eight at the time; she had been seven! She had never told anyone what she had just told him seconds ago. For sixteen years, Elle had kept a terrible secret bottled up inside her.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"It wasn't an accident," she repeated woodenly.

"You said that . . . Elle, how do you know it wasn't an accident? You were only seven years old at the time. Things might not have been the same as they would have appeared to a child."

Elle looked him in the eye. "Because I _saw_ him. I _saw_ him as he ran us off the road." Her voice was rising with each word she spoke. "I saw his _face_ as he pushed our car off the damned cliff!"

Dick sucked in his breath. "Your car went off of a cliff? Oh, my God . . . Elle, how in the hell did you survive that?"

"We missed the rocks," she was crying openly now. "Th-the car hit the water, which might as well have been rocks. My mother . . . She didn't die instantly. I don't know how she could have possibly survived the impact, but she lived long enough to tell me to swim.

"The back window across from me had shattered when the truck hit us. W-water was pouring into the car, and we sank so fast. My mother yelled at me to swim before she died. It took forever to get the seat belt unfastened. By the time I managed it, the car had sank completely beneath the waves. It was instinct that told me that the surface was up, and up meant light. I swam toward the light.

"The waves tossed me about as I hit the surface. I think I was slammed into the rocks at the base of the cliff because when we went off the cliff, there was sunlight, but when I swam around the coast to a local beach, it was dark. I don't remember much after that. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital, and my grandparents and father were sitting next to me."

Dick gaped at her. "You should have drowned. How the hell does a seven year old swim out of a submerged vehicle, get knocked unconscious by being pounded against the rocks, and then wake up hours later to swim to shore? That you survived without serious injury is a miracle in and of itself!"

Elle gave him a curious look. "Who said I survived without serious injury?"

Dick started. "I- I guess I just assumed. I mean you swam to shore. You . . . ah, don't have a limp?" He finished lamely.

Elle laughed, despite the cold that still is inside her whenever she allowed herself to dwell on memories of that time. "A limp . . . Oh, my gosh, Dick! That is so funny! _Why_ is that so funny?" Her laughter coalesced into sobs.

Dick released her seat belt and pulled her over into his lap. He held her while she soaked his shirt. He still sometimes cried like this. Every so often, when the memory of their deaths become suddenly poignant; becomes sharp, like a razor, and the pain is a fresh as the night it happened.

While he felt a little bad at bringing such a painful memory up, he had a feeling that she had never truly grieved; not in the way she should have. A moment like this could be cathartic, however, and he hoped it would allow the poisonous secret to seep out of the reopened wound in her psyche. He wondered why she hadn't told anyone that her mother's accident was actually murder. What would spur a child so young to keep such a devastating secret such as this? It wasn't something he was going to get out of her today, he was sure. As her tears slowed to a stop, he knew instinctively that so did her revelations.

_Later_, he decided. Later he would speak with her about it again.

Right now, he just needed get them to the manor. They should be able to arrive in time for lunch, and then they could meet and greet the rest of the family. Damian wouldn't be home from school until two, but she could still meet Tim and Alfred right away. He was certain that once the introductions had been made, that Elle's bad memories would fade into the background again . . . until they could talk about it in safety and privacy.

Someone had hurt her; a murderer never caught. Dick couldn't help but be determined that he would somehow find her mother's killer for her. As she calmed enough to slip back into her own seat, he put the car in gear and returned to his previous route.

By the time, they rolled to a stop in front of the manor, Elle was completely back to normal. Dick had brought up his theory on how foreign policy dictated the price of dandruff shampoo, and it was as he expected: Elle had taken the oddball topic with exaggerated relief and ran with it. It was just as fascinating a conversation as he predicted it would be.

* * *

Elle was smiling again. She felt lighter than she had earlier, thanks to her crying jag; no tension was left. She also felt intense relief to have shared a portion of her burden with someone who cared, and yet who was also removed from the situation. She was amazed that the truth had come out at all since her throat always seemed to close up every time she was asked to recall that incident. Still, she wasn't ready to admit all there was to the story. That was a topic for another day.

"Thank you," she told him, most sincerely.

"For what," he asked.

"For being you." Elle leaned over the gear shift and kissed him.

Passion mixed with relief was apparently quite the stimulating thing. Her hand slipped up to cup his face, even as his hands pulled her closer. They didn't even notice the door to the manor opening, or the eyes of its occupants watching . . .


	11. Meeting the Family

"Oh, I say!"

"Wow! Yeah, I'll say it, too," Tim agreed with Alfred's assessment.

"Hm," Bruce pursed his lips. He thought now they probably should have waited inside for Dick and Elle. Not that he was displeased by the show of affection; after all, the two of them likely thought they still had some modicum of privacy.

Alfred glanced at his elder charge. "I suppose that this is a promising sign."

Bruce's lips twitched at his butler's mastery of the sarcastic understatement. "Perhaps we should go back inside so as not to embarrass them."

Tim snorted. "I think we might have time to eat lunch considering that they have yet to come up for air."

"Master Timothy."

"What? It's true!" Tim shrugged. "If we're going to have to hold lunch for them, then I'm all for getting this party started right now."

Tim was moving before he finished speaking, bounding down the steps to the car. "Hey! Welcome home, big brother! C'mon, let the girl breathe, why don't you?" He smacked the top of the roof with the flat of his hand.

The two practically leapedt apart, startled by Tim's appearance. One could even detect the blush on Elle's face through the tinted windshield. She covered her face briefly with her hand, obviously mortified. Dick was frowning with rare displeasure at his brother.

"Tim," Bruce called, wanting to mitigate the damage. He didn't want this girl to feel uncomfortable here before she could walk through the front door. He was sort of hoping that she would become a regular fixture in his eldest son's life. "Leave them be."

Tim just smirked, and opened Elle's door. He offered his hand to her, gallantly. "My name is Tim, pretty lady. I'm the handsome one."

Bubbling laughter floated out of the car, and everyone present smiled in response to the infectious sound. It followed closely by Elle herself as she allowed Tim to hand her out. Her face was bright pink, but she didn't appear put out by their prying eyes. "I'm pleased to meet you," Elle smiled, gracious even to the source of her embarrassment.

Tim suddenly looked as though someone had struck him in the head with a two-by-four. He lost his tongue, and stood gaping at the young woman in front of him; his hand still holding hers.

Dick hopped out of the other side of the car with alacrity. He might be annoyed, but Elle's easy manner had gone a long way to dispelling it. He bumped his brother out of the way comically, and took Elle's arm in his as Tim nearly went sprawling.

"Hey," he yelped. Turning around, he glared at his brother. "I tell you what, Dick, I am sick of you having all the luck! I don't understand how you do it."

Dick smirked, and tucked Elle a little closer to his side. "That's just one of my pesky, little brothers," he teased.

"He doesn't look all that little to me," she commented. Tim was the same height as Dick. He looked to be in his mid to late teens, so he still had growing to do. 'Little' was obviously nothing but an honorary term.

"I was talking about his brain," Dick winked, to ease the sting of his joke.

Tim snorted. "Ha-ha," he said, sarcastically.

"Be a good little brother and fetch our bags out of the car, if you please," Dick told him.

Tim made a face, but turned to do what his brother had asked.

Dick led Elle toward the steps, and towards Bruce and Alfred. "Here is the most important person you are going to meet today," he said, stopping in front of the butler. "Elle, this is Alfred. He's Bruce's butler, chauffeur, maid, chef, nurse, etcetera, etcetera . . . And on top of all of that, he is a friend and a confidant, not to mention, family. Oh, and here's an important little hint: Alfred knows _everything _about anything in this house! Alfred, this is Miss Arabella Hamilton."

Alfred gave a short bow in greeting. "Miss Hamilton, it is a great pleasure. If you have a need while staying in this house, please do not hesitate to call upon me."

"Thank you, Alfred. Please, though, Miss Hamilton is too formal. You may call me Elle," she told him.

"Perhaps we might compromise. Would you mind if I called you Miss Arabella?"

Elle nodded. "Okay. Yes, that would be acceptable."

"And, of course, you remember this guy," Dick motioned in Bruce's direction.

Elle grinned. "Mr. Wayne . . . Oh, I mean, Bruce. Yes, of course. Thank you for opening your home to me. It is beautiful estate; what I have seen of it."

Bruce bowed gallantly over her hand, then stole Dick's place by her side; tucking her hand into his arm and leading her inside. "You are welcome, of course. Please, come inside. Alfred has a luncheon prepared for us. You both must be famished."

As Bruce led Elle into the manor, Dick helped Tim with the bags. Alfred paused by the door as the boys moved to pass him. He stopped them.

"An uncomfortable topic, perhaps," he began. Especially after what they had just witnessed, he thought. "But I was unsure as to where to put the young Miss. I prepared the room next to yours, however, just in case."

Dick felt his face heat. "The room next to mine is great, Alfred. Thanks."

Their relationship hadn't progressed that far. Elle was still an innocent, he was positive, despite the passion in their kisses and embraces. He hadn't really planned that far in advance, and thought it would be best to take it slow and easy. He would let Elle call the shots in this area. Besides, Dick didn't really want their first time, whenever it came, to be at the manor. Talk about awkward . . .

Alfred looked pleased with that information, causing Dick another blush. "Very good, sir. Don't linger, for I will be serving lunch momentarily."

Come on, Timmy," Dick carried Elle's two bags, and Tim carried Dick's one small bag. He didn't really need much since he kept clothes here, and Alfred always made sure his bathroom had all the toiletries stocked.

* * *

Lunch was a festive affair despite the initial awkwardness. While Elle didn't volunteer much in the way of information, she would answer questions. Only once did Dick catch her smoothly changing the subject when the topic became one she didn't want to talk about. If he hadn't been watching for it, he might not have noticed it, so expertly did she do it. Conversation flowed like the lemonade that Alfred served with their meal.

"You said that you were from Chicago," Bruce began.

Elle was already ahead of him. "Yes, I am related to Cedric and Aidan Hamilton of Hamilton Industries out of Chicago; my father and my brother, respectively."

Bruce smiled. "You must get asked that a lot, I take it?

Elle shrugged delicately. "Occasionally."

"I don't believe I've had the opportunity to meet either man," Bruce commented. "Amazingly enough, our business interests have never managed to align as yet."

"Poppa has said much the same thing," Elle agreed. "I believe he would love to work with Wayne Enterprises on a project, but nothing has ever come up. Whatever business interests you might have in common, you have both been going in different directions at any given time."

"Are you very involved in the family business," he asked.

Elle shook her head, her cheeks pinking slightly. "No, my talents and interests do not lie in the family business."

"Speaking of talents," Bruce said, "yours is amazing! I am surprised that no recording company has snatched you up."

Elle's eyes met Dick's. Smiling, she admitted, "The Halloween party tonight is hosted by Starburst Recording Studios here in Gotham. Promising local talent as well as big name celebrities will be there by invitation only. They will provide all the entertainment tonight; performing alone and together in impromptu jam sessions for the record producers and the other guests."

"Jam sessions," Tim asked, curious. "What are jam sessions?"

"Are you kidding me? You've never heard of the term, Tim," Dick asked, surprised.

He shrugged. "My interests aren't musical in nature. I like good music, sure," he added, not wanting to offend his brother's new girlfriend. He kind of liked her. "But, it isn't the most important thing in my life. I guess I just never paid that much attention."

Elle explained. "Jam sessions are when a group of musicians get together to play or sing. There is little to no practice involved. There are always a few that have never worked together at all, so there is opportunity for magic to happen. While it is a lot of fun, it's also a way of networking within the business."

"And you've received an invitation after only a few months? That's quite an accomplishment and a testament to your talent. I'm certain that you will blow them all away," Bruce assured her.

Elle beamed at him. "Why thank you, Bruce. That is a lovely compliment."

Bruce blinked a few times, and then ducked his head pretending to concentrate on finishing his dessert for a moment. The girl simply shone at times, and in a way that was reminiscent of the way Dick could; the way Bruce had observed him doing when Elle was around. He had noticed and worried about the way the darkness had seemed to be creeping up on his eldest child, partly because of his line of work, and partly because, Bruce thought, of his unhappiness in his personal life. But Elle, he noted, was capable of pushing back his son's darkness. Something for which he was most grateful.

Dick tilted his head at her. "But you are going to perform in costume? How will those producers know who you are?"

"We have been assigned numbers with our invitations. If the producers like you, they will mark your number, and you will be contacted later by the studio for a private demo," Elle told him.

"It's almost time for Damian to come home," Dick announced, earning a groan from Tim. They had been talking for over an hour.

"Damian is your youngest brother," Elle asked, for clarity.

"Yes. But . . . Um, he's not your typical eleven year old," Dick felt the need to give her a warning.

"Dick Grayson: Master of the Understatement," Tim crowed.

"Tim," Bruce warned.

Tim scoffed. "Whatever, Bruce. It isn't like she's not going to find out within the first two minutes that he walks through the front door."

Elle glanced at the three men, uncertain. Her curiosity was sparked. It was only then that she noticed that Alfred had been missing for the last hour that the four of them lingered through dessert and coffee. He must have gone to pick up Damian from school. She peeked at her watch, as unobtrusively as possible; ten minutes until two o'clock.

* * *

Damian dragged his feet. Normally, he was anxious to see Grayson; excited that he was planning to spend the weekend at the house. But this time, his time wouldn't be for his little brother. This time, it would be for some _girl_!

Not that Damian needed Grayson's attention! Damian didn't need anyone, but it was less than terrible when the two of them could spar together. Grayson's acrobatics made him a decent opponent, challenging Damian's reflexes and speed in order to land a blow. And having him on patrol always seemed to make the night more interesting . . . Except that this time, Grayson wouldn't be sparring _or_ going on patrol with them because of _her_!

"Come along, Master Damian," Pennyworth attempted to spur his youngest charge to move faster. "Master Richard has someone he wants you to meet."

"Maybe I don't want to meet anyone," Damian mumbled, under his breath.

"What was that," Pennyworth looked back at him from the top step.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"I don't think I need to remind you that mumbling is considered to be rude, young sir," Pennyworth advised him. "The young woman is waiting. Polishing up your best manners would be appreciated."

Damian kept his mouth shut. What was that saying that Pennyworth had told him not long after he came to stay with Father? _If you haven't anything good to say, don't say anything at all_?

What was wrong with these people? Hadn't Grayson learned his lesson with Gordon? Father had seen the results of that when Gordon had foolishly turned her back on Grayson. Damian had overheard his quiet conversation with Pennyworth on the matter. Why would Father be encouraging this behavior? It would only be a matter of time before this girl dumped his brother, too! Then maybe he would learn his lesson and stop wasting his time with silly females, and start spending it with the people who actually matter . . . Like _him_!

"I think I should go straight to my room, Pennyworth," he said. "I-I have lots of homework this weekend to attend to. I have to write a report on the . . . uh, the mating rituals of . . ." Damian's eyes darted around for inspiration. There! A rodent was sitting on the stone railing nibbling on some seed he had found. "The North American ground squirrel," he finished triumphant.

He raised his eyes to find Pennyworth staring at him with one quirked eyebrow. Damian huffed in frustration. The butler seemed hardly impressed, and not entirely convinced. He readjusted his backpack over his shoulder and trudged to the door.

He hadn't stepped more than a few feet into the foyer than he was converged on. Apparently the lot of his family had been in the process of making their way into the living room when he had entered. There would be no escaping to his room unannounced now.

"Dami!" Grayson walked over to him, grinning from ear to ear; a bounce in his step that hadn't been there just a month ago.

When Grayson didn't stop at a reasonable distance, Damian realized that he was in danger of receiving a hug. He backpedaled until he bumped into Pennyworth who had entered right behind him.

"Stop," Damian yelled, holding up his hand and causing Grayson to skid to a halt just a foot in front of him. "Grayson, must you insist upon these ridiculous displays of physical affection whenever you come to visit?"

The flash of hurt in those bright, blue eyes made Damian stomach clench in shame. His mouth tightened. He glanced over Grayson's shoulder to avoid the pain he had evoked, and found himself looking directly at the cause of his bad behavior. She was looking at him with a slight smile and a curious expression. It was clear that she was hopeful of getting the opportunity to know him. Well, it was never going to happen!

He scowled at her, in warning; to let her know that he wasn't fooled by her act. She was here to create a rift in his world; to destroy the fragile place he had found for himself. She was going to take Grayson away from him, and nothing would ever be the same again!

"That was _your_ fault," he snarled at her.

She looked a little startled by his words. Good! Maybe she would go home now! B-but she would likely take Grayson with her when she went . . .

"Damian!" Father barked.

"Master Damian!" Pennyworth exclaimed.

To make matters worse, Drake stood behind her, his expression unsurprised. He shook his head sadly.

It was already starting! She hadn't said a word yet, and already his place in the world was crumbling around him. "This is all _your_ fault! Why did you have to ruin everything," he yelled at her.

Damian darted around everyone, dodging hands. Father caught his backpack as he went by, but Damian shrugged it off and took the stairs at a run.

Dick turned to Elle, certain he would have to ease hurt feelings, but she was watching Damian's retreat with an unreadable expression on her face. Sympathetic, maybe, but something else . . . The wheels were turning, and he found himself wondering what it was she was thinking about.

"I apologize for the boy," Bruce was saying. "I'm not sure what came over him." He looked at Alfred. "Did something happen at school?"

Alfred raised a shoulder, baffled. "Not to my knowledge, sir. He seemed to become more and more withdrawn the closer we got to home."

"It's all right," Elle interrupted. "He didn't hurt my feelings. Just leave him be. He'll calm down, and we'll be best friends before you know it." At their incredulous expressions, she smiled. "Well, maybe not on this visit . . ." she admitted, sheepishly.

Bruce was shaking his head. "His behavior was inexcusable."

"Perhaps, but it was understandable," Elle shrugged. At the circle of startled expressions, she explained. "I'm the interloper. He sees me as a threat to his perfectly structured world. Forcing him to be nice to me will likely embed those feelings more deeply. Just let him be. We'll either work things out ourselves in our own time, or his world will eventually right itself on its own."

"You've taken psychology?" It was a question and yet it wasn't.

"Well, yes," Elle's lips quirked. "But I was going more on instinct. It's amazing what kids will see as a threat to their world, and an impediment to their happiness. Either way, it's okay. I'm not so fragile that the anger management issues of an eleven year old will break me."

The four men exchanged looks. They _hoped_ that the anger management issues of this particular eleven year old wouldn't break her.

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Dick suggested.

Elle smiled. "That would be a great idea. I got the impression that he was worried about you not having time for him anymore. I would never want to get between you and your family. He should know that."

At that moment, Dick thought that he might have fallen even farther into love than he already had with this woman. His head was still telling him that it was too soon; but his heart . . . His heart knew the first time she had walked out on stage to sing.

He didn't know if she felt the same way or not . . . not for certain, anyway. But there was this something that he saw in her eyes when she looked at him that made him feel on top of the world, and he knew he would always feel this way for as long as she continued to look at him in just that way.

* * *

Elle watched Dick follow the path of his youngest brother, and allowed herself to feel hopeful. She knew that accepting Dick meant accepting his family and all of their quirks and skeletons. Her grandmother told her this. What is important to him must become important to you, she said . . . and vice-versa. If that doesn't work, then nothing else will.

* * *

**There will be another chapter posted before one on Saturday afternoon (12/13/2014). Are you curious as to what costume Elle brought for Dick to wear for the party?  
**


	12. The Cheap Knock-Off

Elle handed Dick the box from her luggage. "I know it is early yet, but I'd like to see if the costume fits you. I'm hoping this is your size. But I warn you, it isn't very good quality. I would have bought something online, but I wouldn't have been able to get it in time. Just tell me if it will do."

"At this rate, I suppose it will have to do," Dick said, taking the box from her. It was only a few hours until they would need to leave.

"I want to see it on you first," she winked at him. "I'm pretty sure that you can make anything look great!"

Dick laughed, and took the box into his room.

* * *

"Alfred? Where's Bruce," Dick poked his head into the kitchen twenty minutes later.

Alfred turned from where he was marinating the chicken for dinner. It was more the sound of Dick's quiet desperation, than the question itself that had him doing a visual check on his charge. But all he could see was the young master's head and the edge of his bathrobe.

"Is there a problem that I might help you with, Master Richard," Alfred inquired. There certainly sounded like a problem.

"No, no, nothing you can help with," Dick assured him quickly. "I just need to speak to Bruce. It's kind of important."

Again, the measured panic that was the undertone of his words had Alfred stepping towards the young man. To his astonishment, Dick moved back, until only the edge of his face was visible.

"I see," although he really didn't. Alfred answered anyway. "I believe Master Wayne is in his study. Are you certain that I . . ."

"Yep, I'm sure, Alfred," Dick interrupted. "Thanks!"

He left so fast that the door continued swinging. Alfred stared a moment longer before returning to his dinner preparations, but Dick's reaction had bothered him.

* * *

Dick walked into the study quietly, shutting the previously open door behind him. He didn't want any interruptions.

"Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from his reports. He might have taken the day off from the office, but seldom did his work stay behind. It usually would follow him home, as it did this time.

"What's up, chum?" He was startled to see Dick standing before him in his dressing gown, the one that covered him from neck to mid-calf. Dick was clutching the neck of the robe closed.

"Bruce," the control Dick had managed to exert over his panic was wavering dangerously. "I need to borrow one of your Bat suits."

Bruce blinked. "What?" He checked to verify the door to the study was closed.

"Please, Bruce," Dick could hear the desperation in his own voice. "I need to borrow one of your Bat suits. Just for tonight!"

"I thought that was what you said," Bruce frowned. "I thought you were going to that party tonight."

"I am," Dick verified.

"I would have thought, if you planned a patrol afterwards, that you would have brought your own . . . uniform."

"No, not for patrol." Dick stepped forward, as if that might make Bruce more inclined to grant his request.

Bruce leaned back in his chair. "I think you better explain, chum."

Dick sighed. "Elle rented a costume for me to wear. Let's just say that it isn't suitable for public consumption, and leave it at that."

"Wait. Let me get this straight," Bruce now leaned forward, elbows on his desk, and spoke in low tones. "You want to wear a Bat suit to this Halloween party? A _REAL_ Batman suit?" His eyes flitted back to the closed door.

Dick frowned at him. "Unless you have a Superman costume stashed somewhere, then yes, that's what I want!"

"Impossible!" Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was Dick sweating? It wasn't that hot in here.

"Bruce, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation here," Dick argued. "Elle rented me a Batman costume to wear. Apparently, this party is themed, and I have to go as a superhero. You heard her the other night! No one is admitted without a costume! I cannot go in the one she provided. It-it doesn't fit properly, and its quality is . . . um, questionable at best. I need to borrow a Batman costume if I am to take her tonight."

Bruce was already shaking his head. "No. Sorry, chum. I can't have my son showing up at a party wearing an actual Batman costume. I think you can understand why! Even an imbecile would be able to figure out that one of us is Batman from that one glaring clue!"

"Bruce, please! It doesn't have to be a current one." Dick was begging! He was actually begging! "Let me use one of the older costumes, like the one from eight or ten years ago!"

"It's too dangerous!"

"Bruce . . ."

"Dick, _**enough**_!" Bruce yelled, slamming his palms down on top of his desk.

Dick's face flamed red. His desperation had morphed into anger. Maybe in any other situation, he would have agreed with his mentor, and let it go, but this was different.

Unable to come up with another viable argument without a visual, Dick yanked off his bathrobe and threw it across the desk. He jerked the cowl up and over his head, and stood before the man he thought of as a father; arms extended for full dramatic effect!

Bruce's eyes widened. One hand made its way up to cover his gaping mouth. After a moment, he turned his chair to face the wall, away from the sight of Dick in what had to be the absolute worst Batman costume of all time!

"Are you _laughing_ at me?" Dick accused him, boggling at the idea. "You _are_ laughing, aren't you? Of course, you're laughing – _**Look**_ at me!"

Bruce turned back around. One hand was up, pinching the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to help him regain control. His shoulders were shaking, and –Were those tears sliding down his face? Suddenly his other hand came up out of his lap holding his cell phone.

**SNAP!**

Dick's shoulders slumped, his arms dropping back to his side. "That's your answer? Taking a picture of me at my lowest moment . . ."

"A-at least y-your (snicker) face is covered . . ." Bruce wiped at his eyes.

Indeed it was, Dick thought grimly. His cowl, cape, gloves, and boot spats – Yes! Boot spats! - were made of cheap naugahyde! He didn't even know they made naugahyde anymore! The rest of his costume was one piece and made of spandex; the quality of which became glaringly clear when Dick's fingers had torn through the material when forcing the leg over his upper thigh; leaving a large hole with an even larger run down the leg.

The tear wouldn't have happened had the costume fit properly in the first place, but no . . . The worst feature the costume had wasn't the lemon yellow, plastic utility belt, or the slightly lopsided bat symbol across the chest, or even the hot, cheap, pleather that made up the cape and cowl. No, the _worst_ feature of the costume was the fact that it had been made for a man who, very likely, had never darkened the door of a gymnasium! To say the costume was too tight would have been an understatement. It was _obscene_!

The crotch rode up and left nothing to the imagination. In fact, it seemed to rejoice in the fact that he was male, and wanted the world to know it . . . _Even his nipples showed through the material_! It might have redeemed itself had the knee-length cape been capable of wrapping around him completely, but alas, it was not to be. He tried pulling it forward, but it only seemed to make his junk even more glaringly obvious, as though it was framing it.

The cowl was, of course, as small as the rest of the costume. It didn't cover the tip of his nose, and the eye holes were, while large enough, too high up. Dick couldn't see anything below the height of his waist. If he looked down, the mask rode up until the eye holes rested over his forehead.

He glared at Bruce. "You would send _me_, whom you claim to love as a son, out into public wearing this?"

"Dick . . ." Bruce couldn't even complete the sentence.

He was laughing openly now, not even trying to hide the fact. He couldn't seem to catch his breath enough to speak. The Joker wouldn't need a serum if he had this costume . . . People would laugh themselves to death without any hint of chemical or poison. And that thought sent Bruce into another spasm of hilarity.

A crash of the door being thrown open was their only warning as Tim and Damian burst into the room.

"Bruce!"

"Father!"

Whatever the argument had been was forgotten as Tim slid to a stunned halt immediately upon sighting Dick. Damian grunted as he slammed into his brother's back.

"Damn it, Drake," he yelped. He shoved the older boy aside, only to freeze as he took in the tableau in front of them.

Tim burst into laughter, bending over and holding his sides.

"Grayson, what the hell . . . ?" No one thought to correct Damian's language, or, if they did, could have managed it while in the midst of paroxysms of uncontrollable mirth.

"Oh, great! This is just fantastic," Dick threw up his arms in frustration. The ripping sounds that accompanied the sudden movement were loud enough to hear over Tim's guffaws. Bruce's laughter had disintegrated into wheezes.

Dick continued to hold his arms up as he stared in disbelief at the two new, large holes that had sprung underneath of his armpits.

**SNAP! **

**SNAP!**

Dick's head swiveled at the sound. Both Tim and Damian were admiring the picture they had taken just seconds ago with their own phones. Tim had just collapsed on the couch, weak with laughter. Damian snorted with repressed laughter.

"Grayson, take that off! You look ridiculous! I swear, if you attempt to walk out the front door wearing that, I will seriously have to consider killing you." He took another picture.

"Oh, my word . . ." Alfred breathed from the doorway. He had only been following the sounds of mayhem, hoping to catch the boys before they interrupted what he had assumed was a serious conversation. He had been unprepared for the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick shoved the cowl off of his head. He couldn't see with it on anyway. His humiliation was complete. Dick turned back to the desk. Bruce, at least, was just beginning to regain control of himself as he wiped his streaming face with the back of his sleeve.

A gasp from the doorway, caused everyone to turn in surprise.

Elle stood beside Alfred, her face a combination of shock and horror as she saw Dick standing in that monstrosity she had bought for him. She, however, didn't see the humor. What she saw was the man she was falling in love with being laughed at and ridiculed by his family because of a terrible decision on her part.

Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes grew moist. This was all her fault! Damian had been right about that. Dick's blush deepened at the sight of her.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she whispered. Louder, "Dick, I am so, so sorry! I should have known. I mean, I saw how awful it was, but I thought that maybe it wouldn't looks so bad on you . . . I looked everywhere," she said. "I searched and searched, but couldn't find anything suitable that would have gotten here in time."

She moved into the room, stopping just a couple of feet from Dick. "You can't wear that," she said, shaking her head. "Please, take it off."

She turned to his brothers who were still snickering. "Please, don't laugh at him! This is my fault." She pulled out her own phone, but instead of taking a picture, she began to text.

"What are you doing," Dick asked.

"I'm sending my regrets," she explained, as she typed. "You can't wear that, and I refuse to go without you."

Dick frowned, taking her hand before she could hit send. "But you were looking forward to this. The producers were going to be there to hear you . . ."

She sighed. "There will be other opportunities . . . I won't go without you." Elle had been willing to go alone weeks ago, but not now.

"Elle . . ."

"You won't have to," Bruce interrupted. "I remember that I had a Batman costume made up for a masquerade several years ago. I ended up not going, but I put some effort and a boatload of money into the costume. It seems a shame to let it collect dust when it was meant to be worn. I would have offered sooner had I known."

That last was offered to Dick. An apology. The lengths that his son was obviously willing to go to please this woman spoke volumes. Perhaps if the suit was from a decade ago . . .

"Really?" Dick looks at Bruce, unsure now.

"Really, chum," Bruce nods. "Alfred, go save the Batman's reputation and Dick's dignity, if you would."

Alfred smiled. "Very good, sir. Master Richard, I will put out the costume in your room shortly," he said before leaving.

Elle walked over to where Bruce is sitting. Leaning down, she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you so much!"

"I think we can both agree that it was necessary," he replied.

She moved back to Dick. "Thank you. That you were willing to be embarrassed for my sake means a lot to me. I would never ask it of you, but I thank you all the same." She wiped away a lone tear that had managed to escape. "You, Dick Grayson, are the _best_ man I have ever known."

Before he could reply, Elle went up on her tiptoes, cupped his face, and gave him a very deliberate kiss on the mouth. The room is silent as she turned and walked out.

All his energy leaving with her, Dick's shoulders slump as he, and everyone else, stared after her.

"Hmph, maybe she's not so bad, after all," Damian mused.

"Yeah, I know, right?" Tim agreed. "One of these days, Dick, you are going to have to explain to me how it is you get so lucky."

* * *

Dick was standing in the foyer with Bruce, Tim, and Damian waiting for Elle to come down so they could leave. He was wearing the Batman suit of nearly a decade ago. He had carefully emptied the utility belt of all but a few items. It was bad enough that he would be going to a Halloween party in a real suit, albeit, one of the less armored ones; he didn't need to have to explain why he had all of Batman's bells and whistles as well.

"Thank you again, Bruce," he was saying. "I would never have asked if I had been able to think of another viable solution."

"You're welcome, chum." Bruce laid a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Although, I must say this feels strange being on this side of the cowl," he said with a smirk.

"Do you think that anyone will realize that it's the real thing," Tim asked.

Dick shrugged, grinning. "There has to be some benefit from being the son of a billionaire. You'd think with Bruce's money, he'd be able to rent one of Batman's own costumes without anyone raising an eyebrow."

"I don't like it," Damian muttered. "Batman doesn't go to stupid Halloween parties."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not Batman, eh, Dami," Dick smiled. "Seriously, though. How do you move in this thing, Bruce? It weighs a ton!" Dick held up the edge of the cape.

"Hm, imagine wearing one that comes fully armored as well as the cape," was the billionaire's only comment.

"I wouldn't be able to move, let alone fight," Dick marveled again at how strong Bruce had to be to be as capable and effective as Batman while wearing a suit even heavier than this one. Their fighting styles were entirely different, however. The Batman's cape was far too cumbersome for Dick to be able to flip easily.

Tim mused, stating Dick's thoughts out loud. "Batman's style of fighting is far different from Nightwing's. Maybe that's why you don't see him flipping all over the place all the time."

Bruce smiled, ruffling Tim's hair like he was a child rather than a young man of eighteen. "That pretty much sums it up, kiddo."

At that moment, Alfred entered the front door. "I moved the Vanquish out front," he told Dick. "Since you said Miss Arabella liked it so much."

"Thanks, Alfred. Thank you, Bruce," Dick told him again. "She might not admit it, but this party means everything to her. Once these producers hear her voice, it'll be a straight shot to stardom. I mean, you've heard her! She's only been singing professionally for the past four months, and already she was sent an invitation to one of the most exclusive parties in Gotham."

"Oh, my God!" Elle's voice drifted out over them from the top of the stairs. "Dick, you look _amazing_!"

* * *

Everyone's eyes turned to find her, and then stared. Elle grinned. Gaping fish mouths and wide, bulging eyes was exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She had put a lot of money and effort into her costume; designing it herself. After all, the hero she represented deserved more than a cheap knock-off such as that horrible thing she had unwittingly foisted upon Dick earlier.

It was obvious that she was not the hero that she was representing. After all, she was the wrong gender for that. So with that in mind, Elle had designed a costume similar enough to honor him, but that played to her strengths. In other words, it had to look fantastic on her . . . She had thought she had succeeded before, but now she felt vindicated in her efforts.

"I . . . y-you chose _Nightwing_?" Dick stuttered.

She laughed. "Well, of course! I live in Bludhaven! I have to represent my city's very own hero."

The men as a whole moved to the bottom of the stairs so to better see her creation.

"So," A little nervous now, she hoped they approved. She couldn't very well go change into something else at this point. "What do you think? Would Nightwing approve?"

Every pair of eyes turned to look at Dick.

* * *

She took his breath away . . . Again!

She had chosen to go to this party as _him_! And she looked absolutely beautiful doing it!

Her modified costume was white instead of black, but had the prerequisite blue emblem that raced down her sleeves and was completed with the blue finger stripes on her white gloves. The costume was a two-piece as well; the tunic was a mini dress that ended mid-thigh, and had white sheer leggings tucked into knee-high, white boots. The costume clung lovingly to her curves, and made his mouth water.

Her mask looked like a white replica of his black one, but hers had a thin strip of blue that outlined the edges. The only things missing were the white eye lenses that most of the masks the Bat family sported. She had pulled her dark hair up into a braided ponytail high on her crown.

Damn! She looked . . . He sighed. Someone elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow! Hey!" He glanced over to find Bruce staring at him.

"She was asking for _your_ opinion," he whispered.

Oh! Dick glanced back up. Elle was making her way down the stairs, but she looked nervous. Since she didn't know he was Nightwing, Dick supposed it was really _his_ opinion that she wanted, as her boyfriend.

He moved up a few steps to meet her partway, holding his hand out for hers. He tucked her hand into his arm, and turned to walk her the rest of the way down the stairs together. "You look fantastic," he told her. "I think Nightwing would be proud to have you represent him tonight."

Bruce grinned at the sight the two of them presented. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't pick Robin as your costume, all considering."

Elle smiled up at him. "Actually, I chose this costume first since I didn't realize at the time I would be bringing a guest. But that's all right . . . I mean, Nightwing and Batman have teamed up many times according to the news reports."

Tim looked a little dreamy. "You would have made an awesome Robin," he said.

Damian made gagging sounds.

"Damian," came Bruce's warning growl.

Elle turned to look at the shortest member of the family. Would it be too much to ask for his approval? "What do _you_ think, Damian? Would Nightwing approve of me?"

Damian's eyes darted to Dick's and back to hers. Although Elle wanted to know what expression Dick had given the boy, she kept her gaze directly on his brother. The boy pursed his mouth, then dipped his gaze to the floor where he was scuffing one shoe against the marble tiles.

"You'd make a decent Nightwing, I guess," he admitted. Then, almost in the same breath, he clarified. "If one doesn't take into the account that a white costume would make you a target for the bad guys in the dark. And then your braid could be used against you should your opponent grab it and use it to jerk your head back or unbalance you. Then again, I am not aware of your fighting capabilities, which if you have none would make all the other points moot anyway."

Elle was gaping, wide-eyed at the eleven year old. Dick thought the look on her face was comical. This time he had no problem determining what she was thinking: Bruce allowed him to watch too many ninja movies before bed.

"Good thing I'm not an actual crime-fighter, then," she whispered, slightly awed at the preteen in front of her. "Um, but do I look okay, otherwise?"

Damian gave her costume one more critical view, and then nodded, sagely. "Otherwise, yes, you look pretty good," he admitted somewhat reluctantly.

Elle blew out a huge breath in relief. "Thank you, Damian. I guess I won't have to cancel my appearance, after all."

"Tt," he scoffed. Damian knew it was unlikely that Elle would have stayed home on his say so alone, especially if she had the approval of everyone else in the room. But it pleased him that she had asked for his opinion, and that she had taken it seriously. He still wasn't sure he liked her, but perhaps she wasn't _all_ bad.

* * *

Everyone followed them out, reassuring them that they looked great, and wishing Elle luck. Elle turned and gave Dick a kiss on the mouth before ducking back into the beautiful Aston Martin that they had arrived in.

They waved as the car disappeared down the drive, and then Tim said the thing that they were all thinking since viewing Nightwing kissing Batman on the driveway.

"That kiss looked wrong, somehow," he said, scrunching his nose in vague disgust.

Bruce burst out laughing. Slapping Tim on the back, and giving Damian a push in the direction of the door, he agreed. "You're right. That is one sight I never thought I would ever see in this lifetime."

Damian looked back at his father. "You don't think anyone will put two and two together and somehow figure out that you're Batman, do you?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not if the Batman is seen going out on an early patrol," he told them. "What say you to that?"

Tim glanced down at Damian. "Race you to the cave!"

* * *

**Okay, this is by far my favorite chapter. I hope you like it. Please, let me know what you think of the story so far and this chapter in particular. I really had fun with it! Oh, and if you would like to know which Bat suit Dick ended up wearing, look up Neal Adams' Batman. Classic . . .  
**


	13. The Bridge Part 1

Dick drove into the city, grinning at the antics of woman at his side. Elle was so excited and nervous she was practically bouncing in her seat. The car hugged the turns as he drove around the curves down into the city.

"So, where is this being held," he asked.

"At the Empire Club," she answered.

"I've heard of it," he said. "I've never been there before, though. It's fairly recent. I think it opened about three years ago."

"Yes, that is what Randi told me. It's supposed to be huge! Three levels, a stage for live music, and a dance floor that can hold up to a hundred people. They have a private area where I heard the producers will hang out. We probably won't even see them tonight." Elle wasn't even aware that she was bending the invitation in her hands.

Dick reached over, and plucked it out of her hands. "We may still need this to get in. It would be better if we didn't have to tape it back together first. Don't you agree?"

Elle pursed her lips, and slumped back in her seat. Did she say she was impatient? "Sorry . . ."

He laughed. "You don't have to apologize to me. This is a big deal for you," he said. "It's your chance to shine!"

She sighed. "If I succeed, then Poppa will finally have to agree that I have what it takes to make it on my own."

To get to the area they needed to go, Dick would need to go through the tunnel which would bring them up near downtown Gotham. He didn't want to have to get on the beltway that circled the city. It would take them too far out of their way if they went west, and they would have to go over the bridge into Bludhaven's warehouse district if they took the beltway east. Better to just cut across the downtown area. It would be practically deserted on a weekend at this time of the evening, so even with traffic lights, they should be able to cut at least fifteen minutes off of their drive.

"Uh oh," he muttered, frowning as he neared the turnoff for the tunnel.

Brake lights warned him of a potential problem. There were a couple of police cars up ahead directing traffic past the tunnel's exit. Neither he or Elle could see far enough ahead to tell what the trouble was. As they neared the traffic officer, Dick rolled Elle's window down and leaned across the console.

"What's the problem, officer," he asked.

"Fifteen car pile-up in the tunnel. Emergency vehicles are only now getting in to the victims. You'll have to find another route," the officer said. "You will need to move . . . Oh," he gasped, startled. "Batman! Uh, . . . and, um, Nightwing?"

Elle clapped a hand over her mouth, torn between compassion for the victims of the huge accident, and the need to laugh at the poor officer's obvious befuddlement.

"Heh," Dick smiled. "No, not Batman. On our way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of the city," he explained.

The officer returned the smile, wearily. "That explains the car. It's not the Batmobile," he clarified. "Great costumes! You had me fooled there for a second. Sorry, but you'll not be getting through this way for hours yet."

"That's okay," Dick nodded. "We'll find another way. Take care out there, officer. We hope there aren't any casualties."

"That would be great if there weren't," the officer said as he waved them on.

Dick pulled back into traffic. "I guess we won't be going through town. Best bet is to head toward Bludhaven and cut across down near the docks. We can cut back into east Gotham at the Washington Street Bridge. It'll only be a few minutes out of our way. Shouldn't be busy this time of day."

Elle craned her neck to see the flashing lights of a dozen emergency vehicles that converged upon the tunnel. "I hope no one is hurt too badly," she lamented.

"They're in good hands," he reassured her, even as he said a quick prayer for the victims in his head.

* * *

They were on the beltway now heading for the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge. The drawbridge was actually a swing bridge that could turn the center section sideways to allow large ships to pass through on both sides simultaneously. As they neared the bridge, however, Dick noticed flashing lights coming up fast in his rear-view mirror.

"Heads up, Elle," he warned. "Looks like we have company coming up on the right."

Dick flicked his turn signal to pull into the left lane so that the police could get by. Gotham's jurisdiction ended at the bridge, however, and Dick wondered where they were going. Suddenly, an unmarked car blew past them on their left, sideswiping the Vanquish and sending it spinning out of control

"Hang on," he yelled, as he fought the car's spin.

Another car hit their front bumper from the other side, making the Vanquish slide sideways towards the bridge's railing. They slammed, front end first, into the metal rail and stopped hard! The airbags deployed upon impact. The railing they had hit creaked ominously, but held. Outside, there were sounds of vehicles screeching and metal crunching. They weren't the only ones to be hit.

Dick turned to Elle in a panic. Was she hurt?

Elle was holding a hand to her head, but the flashing police lights made it difficult to tell if the red on her glove was blood or just a reflection. She was staring out the window rather than looking at him. What . . .?

"Elle, are you all right? Elle," he asked, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Oh, God," she cried. "That car . . . It went through the railing! It's going to fall into the river!"

Dick looked past her. Sure enough, a white sedan was teetering on the precipice. There was a woman in the driver's seat. She was screaming; struggling to get her door open. Damn, and he was without anything that might help because he had emptied his utility belt of everything but a couple of smoke bombs and maybe some smelling salts!

Before he could react, Elle opened the door and jumped out of the car. Dick fumbled a second with his seat belt before he, too, was out of the car. He slid across the hood and was running after her. Faster than she was, he managed to catch her just a few yards from the wavering vehicle.

"Elle, wait! What are you doing," he yelled. "You don't know if that car might blow up at any minute!"

She looked up at him with terror-stricken eyes; blood dripping from a cut above her hairline, and abruptly his memory kicked in. _Oh shit_! Her mother died just like this. Elle had been strapped in the back seat, and had somehow miraculously survived the fall into the sea! He didn't know how high the cliff they had gone off had been, but the bridge was easily four stories above the river.

"We got to help her," Elle was screaming, pulling away; struggling to get out of his grip. "It's going to fall!"

"The police . . .," Dick began, but he saw that most of the cops were busy swarming the two cars they had been chasing.

Gunshots rang out, making him duck and pull Elle nearer the railing; hopefully away from any stray bullets.

_Shit_! He was completely out of his depth here! Nobody else would know him from Adam, but Elle knew who he was. If he tried to help, she was more than smart enough to figure out that he was more than just her boyfriend. He risked a glance and saw that Bludhaven's cops were blocking the other side of the bridge. It was only a matter of time before the perps were arrested and carted away, but instead of giving up, they seemed determined to go out in a blaze of bullet-riddled glory! Watching the car teetering on the edge of the bridge, he didn't think the woman had that kind of time.

Elle jerked out of his grip, reminding him that no one was going to be able to assist the woman until the perps were wrapped up, and the shooting stopped. He jumped up to help her. On the driver's side, they at least had the car between them and the shootout.

Elle was trying to get the driver's door opened, but the dent in the door explained why it was stuck. Dick moved Elle out of the way.

"Stay down," he ordered. Turning back, he tried to get the screaming woman's attention. "Ma'am, I'm going to break the window! Turn your head away!"

As soon as she realized what he intended, she turned her face away. Dick slammed his elbow into the window, shattering it. The safety glass prevented the whole window from giving way completely, but there was a large hole where his elbow had struck. He grabbed the glass with his hands, knowing that the gloves were made to handle sharper items than this. He tore the glass free, opening a space large enough for the woman to be pulled through. The car tipped forward ominously. Dick hurried to pull her out, before the car fell and took her with it.

"Batman, please! Save my baby," she gasped, as Dick slid her free of the dangling vehicle.

"What," Dick gasped, still holding the injured mother in his arms. His head turned back toward the car. How had he not seen the baby seat in the back?

"_No_!" Elle ran back to the car, ignoring the bullets that still were flying.

"Elle, wait!" Dick sat the woman down, and moved to follow her.

The vehicle teetered once more before sliding over the edge. Dick caught Elle by the waist. They watched helplessly as the car plunged into the river. The mother and Elle screamed. Elle tore at Dick's arm, wresting herself away from him.

His fingers only inches from reaching her, Dick stared in total disbelief as Elle dived off the edge of the bridge and into the dark water beneath.

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! I am lucky enough to have the entire weekend off, so you will get the second part of this tomorrow. You'll get at least four chapters total this weekend . . .  
**


	14. The Bridge - Part 2

**There is the use of a word, I don't normally use in here. Just a head's up!**

* * *

Dick kneeled at the edge of the bridge where a car just plunged four stories into the Gotham River; where his girlfriend just dived in after it in a crazy effort to save the driver's baby who was strapped into a baby seat in the back. The car had sank below the surface in less than a minute; ridiculously fast! The ripples from both the vehicle and Elle's mad dive were already gone, and the dark surface of the fast moving water was blank again. He couldn't even tell for sure where they had hit exactly anymore.

Slowly, sounds reintroduced themselves to his consciousness. He became aware there was still gunfire being exchanged, and a woman weeping to his left. He realized in a vague sort of way that the detached feeling he was experiencing was symptom of shock. His mind kept replaying the last few seconds that Elle had been with him. Her running toward the edge of the bridge, determined to save a child from an impossible fate . . . His hand reaching for her, desperate to save her from certain death. _Two inches_! _Just two fucking inches_!

He needed to do something. What the hell did he need to do? The police near him were too busy to help him, and the fire department and coast guard wouldn't enter the area until the danger was gone.

Stumbling to his feet, Dick weaved his way back to Bruce's car. It was the first time Dick noticed the damage done to it. The entire right front end was demolished. The tire was bent and turned in such a way that driving on it would be impossible.

Inches, he thought, less than a foot from Elle's door. He realized that if the gunmen's car had hit them just twelve inches back, Elle might have been killed, or at least, seriously injured. But there would have been no way she could have been able to throw herself off a bridge into the freezing water below. Would that have been preferable? He didn't know. His head hurt. He was confused.

Dick walked around the $200,000 plus vehicle, and stared at the damage on the driver's side. It was more of a gouge than a scrape that reached almost bumper to bumper. He looked at the driver's seat. He wasn't even sure what it was he was seeing. His eyes stared at his phone lying in the floor beneath the steering wheel. He should call someone . . . But whom?

Bruce. He should call Bruce.

He pressed speed dial, and listened to the ringing as he stumbled back the way he came. He glanced at the woman weeping, but hadn't the desire to deal with her at the moment.

"Wayne residence," came Alfred's voice, sounding tinny over the phone.

"Alfred?" His own voice sounded odd.

"Hello? Master Richard? Is that you?"

"Alfred? She jumped," Dick felt like that was important to get out. "I tried to grab her, but . . . She jumped, Alfred."

The pause at the other end was almost undetectable. "Master Richard, are you all right?"

"I don't know what to do, Alfred . . ." Dick sat down on the ground. He ignored the gunfire around him, even though some part of him told him that there was no longer a vehicle to give him shelter.

"Dick," Alfred, realizing something terrible had happened, spoke very clearly and simply. "Who jumped?"

"Elle," he said. "I couldn't save her. I wasn't fast enough."

* * *

Alfred knew that whatever had occurred was far more complicated than what the young master was able to convey at the moment. He could hear the popping sounds that he recognized to be gunfire in the background and the wailing of a distraught woman; a woman, but not Miss Arabella because . . . Miss Arabella had jumped?

The butler suspected strongly that Master Richard was suffering from shock based upon the conversation he was having . . . or not having, as the case may be. The young man wasn't making much sense.

"Dick," he continued to use his charge's nickname as he seemed to get the most response from that. "I'm going to call Batman to come help you," he said. "I need you to look around you for a safe place to wait. Can you do that?"

"I can see where she dove into the water . . ."

_Water_? Alfred deduced that the young master was likely near the river. Batman would be able to listen to the police bands and determine where his lost bird was. The gunfire guaranteed that there would be chatter all over the place. Alfred turned to the den and the television. There should be a report about whatever was happening. No doubt Master Richard and Miss Arabella were right in the middle of it, he thought grimly.

He pulled his cell phone out and dialed nine-nine-nine followed by the pound sign.

"Oracle, here. Agent A?" Barbara's voice came over the line.

"Oracle, I need you to patch me through to Batman immediately." Alfred continued to listen to the pandemonium that was coming through the phone, but Master Richard had gone quiet. He ignored the thrill of fear that his charge had somehow taken a stray bullet or passed out from shock.

"Of course," she said. "What's going on?"

"What is happening down by the river," he asked. Oracle always monitored the police bands so as to best direct Batman to where he was most needed.

"A car chase that ended with a shootout. It's still going on. Who knows how much ammo these crazies had with them in the car. According to reports, the police have only managed to put one of the gunmen out of action," she said. "Batman," Alfred heard her speaking on another line. "I have Agent A. I'm patching you through."

"Agent A?" Batman growled. "What has happened?"

Alfred never interrupted a patrol unless some disaster had occurred. Batman and the boys were on their way to a stand-off on the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge, even as he took his butler's call.

"Sir, I have big D on the other line," Alfred said, using the code for Dick as a civilian while on an unsecured line. "I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I believe that he and . . . E were caught up in the mess on the bridge you may have heard about. I believe he might have been hurt. He sounds as if he's in shock, so he isn't making much in the way of sense. He speaks as though something truly terrible has happened to E. I fear he may have need you."

Batman frowned. "I am already on the way there. ETA two minutes."

"I can still hear gunfire over the line. I am afraid he may not be aware enough of his surroundings to take the proper care. But then again, he's no longer responding to my questions."

"Damn it! Acknowledged, Agent A. Batman out."

Batman hit his comm link. "Red Robin," he informed Tim. "Be advised that Dick and Elle may be at the shootout. One or both may be injured."

"Dick's hurt?"

Batman shot a look at Robin. "He was able to call Agent A just a few minutes ago, so it may not be too serious."

Robin didn't look as if he believed him. Batman clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas. The batmobile shot forward, going from eighty to one hundred in the space of a second. As Batman he could generally set aside personal feelings in order to get a job done, and although he tried not to, the other part of him still worried whenever one of his birds had been hurt.

* * *

Elle plunged into the freezing river seconds after the car hit. There was no light to indicate which way was the surface, but she didn't need to breathe yet. The car, she could feel, was directly below her. She kicked hard to reach it. There was still time. The baby seat was rear facing, and there was a chance that the seat had mitigated the impact enough that the baby wasn't killed. She couldn't stop until she knew for sure.

Although she had sliced through the water cleanly, the impact had given her a terrible headache on top of the previous headache given to her from her head impacting the passenger side window. She ignored the throbbing as best she could as she reached out in front of her. It was too dark to see the car, but she knew it was there. She just knew it!

There! Elle's finger touched metal for a second before the current swept her past the vehicle. She fought with the current for what felt like an eternity. How long had the baby been under? Elle could hold her breath crazy long, but an infant wouldn't have but a few short minutes at most.

Her fingers found a door handle. She couldn't tell what side of the car she was on, however. She tugged on the door, but even though the water pressure must have evened out by now, there was no way she could budge it by herself. She felt for the other window. It was intact. That meant she was on the passenger side of the car.

Elle felt along the vehicle, catching hold of the metal that edged the windshield; found the windshield wiper. Good! She was at the front of the car. Knowing where she was gave her a frame of reference which would make traversing the inside of the vehicle easier.

There was a thump of the car hitting the river bottom that nearly tore away her grip. God, how deep was the Gotham River? She felt pressure, but not nearly as much as she probably should. The questions that generated were pushed aside by her mission, and the idea that her senses were screwed up due to the shock of the car accident and diving into the freezing water.

The second she found the broken window, Elle pulled herself inside. She felt the steering wheel and the head rest of the driver's seat, and used them to pull herself further. She oriented herself toward the back seat. Her hand swept the area in front of her until it hit something hard. The baby's car seat!

Elle felt frustration as she couldn't figure out the belt that strapped the child in. She suddenly feared that the device that might have saved the child from the fall would now contribute to its death. Her hand found the adult seat belt next. Familiarity allowed her to release it. If she couldn't pull the child from the car seat, she would take the seat with her.

She found the infant's face. How long had it been without oxygen? The baby needed her air more than she did at this point. Elle pressed her mouth over the child's nose and mouth, creating a seal, and breathed. It was difficult. How much water had the baby inhaled? She pushed back the panic, and struggled to fit the seat into the front of the car and out the window.

Immediately, she pushed off from the car's roof; away from the vehicle, instinctively knowing this way was up! Surely she would need to breathe soon! What if she had saved the baby only for both of them to drown before they could reach the surface? Despite her exertion, she only felt slightly lightheaded. She kicked harder. She had to get them to the surface right now!

How long? How long? How long?

Her head broke the surface of the black water, and she gasped; pulling in much needed oxygen . . . Although, she thought she might have had it in her to go a little longer. Elle struggled to pull the car seat up. It was waterlogged and incredibly heavy, and it took some effort on her part to keep them both afloat. She hadn't swum in so long; it was amazing that she hadn't lost some of her strength over the last few months. She used to swim every day for hours!

Was the baby breathing? She pulled the child to her and pushed air into its lungs once more, twice, three times! The infant convulsed, vomiting up water, and coughing spasmodically. Oh, thank God! Elle breathed for it once more, forcing more of the life-giving oxygen into its little lungs! More coughing followed, and then a glorious cry! The cry was weak, but it was as beautiful to Elle's ears as any music she had ever heard.

For the first time, Elle looked around her. Where was she? The bridge was no longer above her. She turned around in the water, straining to see some outline to give her an idea how far the current had pushed them. There! The flashing lights of the police cars crowding the bridge! Elle was shocked by how far they had traveled; _were_ _still_ traveling! It was difficult in the dark, but the bridge was getting further and further away!

Elle began swimming for the closest shore. The shoreline was invisible in the dark, but she felt positive that she was heading in the right direction. She should be exhausted, she thought, but she still had more than enough energy to make it. Must be the adrenaline coursing through her system . . .

Minutes or hours later, Elle was dragging the baby's seat out of the water. She dropped to her knees, and fiddled with the latch until it finally sprang free. It had taken too long. Had she continued to struggle with it in the vehicle, the child would have died! But the baby was alive!

New energy flooded her as elation coursed through her veins! Unfortunately, a stiff wind blew across the river, making them both shiver. The baby's cry warbled. She gathered the child up in her arms to share her heat with it as best she could, and stumbled to her feet. She wasn't about to lose this baby to hypothermia after all she had just gone through to save it from a watery grave. She began making her way up the embankment in the direction of the lights. The poor mother must be going out of her head with grief right now.

She gasped; her head jerking up to stare at the lights. Dick! Oh, God, what must he be thinking? That she had jumped to her death, surely! Faint popping sounds could now be heard. Was the shootout still going on? The stray bullets that hadn't concerned her before now pulled to the forefront of her brain. What if he were hit by one? What if he were, even now, bleeding out on the bridge? Would he fight the darkness? Or would he, in despair, allow himself to be pulled under?

She picked up her pace, tripping and stumbling, until she stood on the semi-flat surface on top of the embankment. While she didn't have it in her to run, Elle began to jog. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed, she fell into a rhythm. She jogged hunched over the infant in her arms. The movement helped to warm her, and allowed her, in turn, to warm the child.

* * *

**The shock that Dick is suffering from is not from blood loss, (although injury from the crash might exasperate it) but is a type of shock called "Psychogenic Shock". Symptoms can come on quickly and last anywhere from hours to days to more than a month. A serious, but not necessarily life-threatening condition that cause low blood pressure; nausea; dizziness; fainting; confusion; rapid pulse; cold, clammy skin; and psychogenic amnesia which is most often situation specific. It is often associated with the psychological stresses of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). While Psychogenic Shock is treatable, it can often be resolved on its own. The danger of this type of shock is more from injuries sustained from fainting. **

**Of course, Alfred wouldn't know this from the stilted conversation he had with Dick over the phone. **

**The rest of this will be resolved before the day is out. Check back this evening for the Bridge - Part 3. **


	15. The Bridge - Part 3

**A word not generally used will be found here – Just a head's up! Welcome to the conclusion of "The Bridge" – Part 3. Not the end of the story, just the end of the scene . . .**

* * *

The Batmobile skidded to a halt at the Gotham side of the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge. The cops had the entire road blocked off, obviously to prevent the crooks from escaping. The gunfire indicated that the men were desperate enough to continue to fight although the only end for them was prison or a body bag.

Batman and Robin leaped from the car and vaulted over the police cars. The officers themselves startled, but gave them no trouble. Indeed, many of them appeared relieved for the backup. Red Robin's cycle weaved through the maze of vehicles undeterred by the roadblock. He was able to pull ahead of Batman once through the line of cars.

With no supports to use, their grapple guns were worthless on the drawbridge. They had no choice but to run. Batman's longer legs allowed him to pull ahead of Robin, though not by more than a few feet. As they topped the slight rise that marked the center of the bridge, Batman could suddenly see the action ahead of him. The sounds of gunfire grew louder with each slap of his boots. The vast number of flashing lights up ahead was an epileptic's nightmare!

Despite all that was happening, Batman's eyes searched the tangle of cars that littered the bridge between them and the firefight. A few people had remained in their cars whether from fear or from injury, he couldn't tell. One or two were hunkered down on the near side of the cars, using the vehicles as protection from whatever stray bullets came their way. Most ran towards the safety of the police roadblock. He saw one or two people lying alongside their cars as well; victims of either the wreck or a bullet, he didn't know and he didn't stop to find out.

It wasn't until they neared the firefight that he recognized what was left of his Aston Martin Vanquish. It pressed against the railings of the bridge, but had been unable to punch through the stressed metal. No one was in the vehicle. Batman's eyes continued to search, perhaps a little desperately now, for a familiar figure dressed as he was.

There!

A hole in the bridge's railing marked the spot where some unlucky car had plunged to the river below. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the Bludhaven docks, was a hunched figure of a weeping woman, and near her knelt the form of Batman.

Although he knew that Dick hadn't brought any gear with him, Batman couldn't believe that he wouldn't do something to help the police take down the gunmen. Dick would think nothing about risking his own life to protect the lives of his brothers in blue, and yet, there he knelt, unmoving. Fear coursed through his veins. _Why wasn't he moving_? This was what Alfred had been trying to relay through the comm earlier, that something was wrong with Dick. He wanted to go to him immediately, but they were all at risk as long as those gunmen continued to fight.

Red Robin had joined the fray, however. Already the sounds of gunfire had decreased dramatically. The police had stopped firing in fear of hitting the young vigilante. The only guns firing now were those of the gunmen. Robin hesitated at the sight of the lone Batman figure hunched on the road, but then attacked the fight ahead of him with angry vigor; joining Red Robin in his effort to stop the gunmen for good. Already the gunfire had lessened as Red Robin neutralized one threat. One down, one vehicle of bad guys left to go. With the two boys on top of their game, this left Batman the freedom to check on his eldest son.

He moved the last few feet slowly, so as not to startle Dick. He was far too close to the edge for comfort. Any sudden movement could send him tumbling into the blackness beneath them. He held his hand out, reaching until he grasped Dick's shoulder, and pulled him back away from the hole in the rails.

"Are you okay," Batman asked, careful to not use Dick's name.

Dick looked up at him, but was unresponsive; the little skin that was exposed was incredibly pale. Damn! Batman couldn't see behind the white lenses that shielded his son's cerulean blue eyes from the world at large. He flicked up the lenses, placing his body between Dick's and the woman now behind him.

Nobody was home, he thought, fearfully. Glassy, blue eyes looked at him, but didn't see him. Batman ran his hands over the younger man, searching for signs of injury or blood. High up on one shoulder was a tear in the cloth. Blood seeped sluggishly from the minor gunshot wound. The costume hid whatever other injuries Dick might have sustained, however. No broken bones that he could tell. But there was something wrong. Dick was in shock, but the question was why?

Batman pulled the cape around his son's shoulders more closely, to block the chill from the bitter wind. The Bat suit would work to mitigate the cold. He wasn't worried about hypothermia, but shock could lower blood pressure dangerously, and warmth would help his boy's body cope.

He looked around him now. The weeping woman was moaning, but Batman couldn't tell from here what injuries she might have sustained in the car crash. He was assuming that it was her car that went through the guardrail. He looked to find other bodies, living or dead, but frowned when there was no familiar figure of Elle's white Nightwing costume anywhere.

He decided to risk it. No one was around except the woman who appeared to be near catatonic in her hysteria.

"Dick," he whispered, harshly. "Dick, talk to me! What happened?" Batman had to give him a shake, and call his name louder to reach his son through the fog. "Talk to me! What happened? Dick, where is Elle?"

The concern the young woman had exhibited for his son's feelings earlier made it difficult to believe that Elle would run away and leave him in such a state. But then again, people often acted out of character in life-threatening situations. Perhaps she was just fine, sitting in the back of one of the patrol cars he had passed coming in. But it didn't feel right to him; that scenario.

"Dick, Where is Elle?"

As he watched, Dick's eyes focused on him. His son frowned as if confused, and then crumpled into despair. "S-she . . . she jumped." Dick stammered. "The car fell, and she jumped in after it."

Batman's head jerked around to stare at the broken guardrail in disbelief. They were easily four-stories up! Perhaps she fell in, because he could not imagine a scene in which a woman would willingly throw herself into a freezing river from this height unless she was mentally unstable enough to commit suicide. Batman knew he was not so bad a judge of character or unable to read people that he wouldn't have pegged Elle as a suicide in seconds of meeting her.

"You mean that she fell in?" Batman felt the need to clarify. He would have to see the Commissioner about getting the river dragged. God! Dick had just found her . . . What kind of cruel bitch was Fate to take the woman away from his boy so soon?

"She jumped," Dick began yelling. "She jumped in after the car! She jumped!"

Batman blinked at Dick's vehemence. His story didn't change, however, despite his obvious mental confusion. "Why would she jump? I'm assuming the woman over there is the one from the vehicle. Why would Elle jump when the woman is safe?"

"The baby," he muttered, his mouth turning down miserably. "She went in after the baby."

Batman's eyes widened. That would explain a lot. If there was a child still in the car, Elle might have mistakenly thought she could save it. He had never guessed when he got up that morning that he would be ending the day with two bodies; those of a child and the woman Dick had fallen in love with.

"I couldn't reach her," Dick cried. "I tried, Bruce! _Two inches_! I missed her by only_ two fucking inches_!"

Batman slapped a glove hand over his son's mouth. He glanced around, but they were safe at the moment. No one was close enough to hear, not even the mother. But he needed to get Dick out of here before he inadvertently blurted out anyone else's secret identity.

"Shh, I know you tried. I'm so sorry, son," he crooned softly in Bruce's voice. Dick leaned his head against Batman's shoulder as if the energy he needed just to remain upright had all but failed him.

Dick nodded. Bloody tears leaked from beneath the cowl. _Ah_, Batman thought, _there was the other injury_. The cowl had hidden it from view, and the material must have absorbed a good amount of the blood, until the tears had given it away. He wanted to push the cowl out of the way, but he had already acted so far out of character that he couldn't risk it. People would notice the person that Batman had singled out for special attention, the person he chose to help instead of confronting the crooks; the person he had passed others by to reach.

The gunfire had ceased. Batman hadn't even noticed when that had happened, so intent on Dick he had been. But as he looked up, he could see Robin and Red Robin trotting up to them, concern written across both of their faces so blatantly that no mask could hide it.

"How is he," Red Robin asked as soon as he was close enough he didn't need to shout.

"In shock," Batman explained. "Grazed by a bullet, and a possible head injury beneath the cowl. I cannot be certain of any other injuries until we get him home."

Robin stood closer than he needed to, but otherwise remained silent. Worried though he may be, Damian was more likely to deny the emotion than to make a scene.

Red Robin was searching the area. "Where's Elle," he asked, quietly so as not to be overheard.

Not wanting to explain out loud, Batman tilted his head in the direction of the river. Batman could almost see Tim eyes widen behind his lenses. He ran over to the edge of the bridge and looked down.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, horrified. "Are you kidding me?"

"the gunmen are taken care of," Batman asked, verifying what he already surmised.

"Yes," Robin answered finally. "There were gunmen in both cars; three in each. The police are taking them away even now."

Batman nodded. "We need to get him home. He's too confused at the moment to be trusted not to call any of us by name."

"But what about . . .," Red Robin waved a hand at the dark waters.

"Later. I'll call the Commissioner and make arrangements. Go get your bike, and meet us back at the cave," Batman instructed.

A commotion sounded behind them, in the direction of Gotham. People were cheering. Three of the masked men exchanged glances. What was going on now?

In a moment, they could see a white figure making its way toward them at a trot. A policeman came running up to her, blanket in hand. He wrapped the green material around her shoulders. He tried to take whatever it was she was hunched over from her arms, but she jerked away from him. When she looked up, the now familiar white mask greeted them. She started running.

"Elle?" Dick was staring at the miracle making her way toward them. "_Elle_!" He pulled away from the supporting arms of Batman and Robin, and began running. Alert now when only moments before he had been almost completely unresponsive.

Batman and Robin moved quickly to catch up. News reporters were making their way around the police barricade now that the danger had passed. They had only moments to secure the two before their secrets were broadcasted across television screens citywide.

The fog of despair that had been clouding Dick's mind lifted at the sight of a soggy, dripping figure with his emblem emblazoned on the front of her tunic. Part of his mind was questioning how it was she was alive, but the rest of him simply rejoiced that God had given her back to him, apparently none the worse for wear. As he neared her, he saw yet another miracle appear in her arms.

"I-is . . . Is that the baby from the car," he asked, incredulous.

She nodded, grinning at him happily. She cuddled the shivering infant closer. Dick was in awe . . . The child was alive! Cold, but alive! It was making cranky, fussing noises; a weak cry which he supposed it was entitled to after its brush with death.

"I need to get it to its mother," she said. It was finally bright enough on the bridge to see more than a shadow in her arms. Elle stared down at the pink jumper and limp, soggy bow. "_Her_! I need to get _her_ to her mother," she smiled.

Dick readjusted the blanket over her shoulders, wrapping his girlfriend and her precious cargo up so as to block the wind that was stronger on the bridge than it had been on the shore. They made their way back toward the huddled figure of the young mother.

Red Robin swerved to a stop in front of them on his motorcycle. "Oh, my God, are you all right," he asked them both.

Elle looked up, startled by the appearance of one of Gotham's heroes. She blinked. "Is that a costume or are you the real deal?"

Red Robin seemed to remember that she didn't know him in this guise. "Both," he grinned. "Need a lift?"

Elle glanced at Dick. Now that she was here in his arms and the child moments away from being reunited with its mother, she suddenly felt the loss of the adrenaline that had kept her going since the adventure began. Her knees became wobbly and her arms began shaking. "Oh, I don't know that I could hang on right now. C-could you take her back to her mother," she asked, handing the bundle off to the young hero before she could drop her. "Tell her to take her to the emergency room. I had to give her rescue breaths to revive her. She will need to be checked over."

Red Robin quickly pulled his cape around the small bundle of pink and precious in his arms. He watched the amazing woman sag against his brother. "Of course, ma'am," he nodded. "You did an incredible thing. Thank you." He carefully turned the cycle back the way he came, drove back toward where the mother was receiving medical attention at last. He slowed only to show Batman and Robin the bundle he carried, and moved on, eager to return the child to her mother.

Batman slowed upon approach. "Are you two . . ."

"We're better now, Batman, thank you," Dick answered for them both. His eyes seemed clearer now. His voice was strong and his confusion of earlier absent. There was still blood seeping out from beneath the cowl, but like the graze on his shoulder, it looked to be easing on its own.

Elle gaped at him, recognizing the genuine article in front of her. She also had blood running down her face, mingling with the water from the river. For being in a car accident and diving from a four story bridge into frigid water, she looked remarkably fit. She was shivering violently now and appeared exhausted, but she was still standing on her own two feet. He hadn't been mistaken about the strength he had sensed in her the previous night. Batman thought she had earned a rare gift tonight.

"You did well, tonight," he rumbled, allowing a true smile to briefly grace the face beneath the cowl. "You saved that child."

Elle returned the smile shyly. "My boyfriend actually did the saving," indicating Dick beside her, startling everyone. "He pulled the mother from the car just seconds before it went over the side of the bridge. If he hadn't torn out the driver's side window, I would never have been able to reach the child in time. I couldn't budge the doors."

Dick stared at her, incredulous. "You dived into the water after the baby, not I!"

She kissed his cheek. "He's so modest," she declared, smiling. "He's actually an off-duty officer from Bludhaven's police force."

Robin looked from the couple to Batman and then back again. He kept his opinion to himself, which was fortunate because at that moment, they were all rushed by reporters.

Dick's senses seemed to have returned to him enough, that Batman was no longer afraid all their secrets would be exposed. He appeared to be letting Elle handle the media, giving them the truth, which for once wouldn't reveal anything. Just Dick Grayson, off-duty cop, and his girlfriend getting caught up in the drama while on their way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of town.

Dick's Batman costume distracted them enough that he could back out of the fray. He and Robin moved out of the way as unobtrusively as possible, hoping to be gone before the rabid reporters realized they had disappeared.

Batman and Robin would head to the cave, and Bruce Wayne would reappear in order to pick up his eldest son and his girlfriend from the local emergency room. All's well that ends well tonight, thank God. Tomorrow, however, would be another day, and he was anxious to verify Dick's health and get the story in full. He had no doubts that it would be a very interesting tale, indeed.

* * *

**All kinds of questions should be popping up now . . . Good. The answers are coming, but all in good time.**


	16. Questions

A light tapping on his door announced his visitor. Dick looked at the clock; one in the morning. He had been expecting the visit, but not this early. The door opened, and Bruce walked over to the bed.

"I'm awake," Dick told him. He moved to sit up.

"Mind if I visit," Bruce asked.

"No, of course not. I was expecting you, though I am kind of surprised to see you so early. I was expecting you to come by closer to three o'clock." Dick scooted over to make room.

Bruce took the invitation and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh, better," Dick acknowledged. A hand went up to touch the butterfly stitches that decorated his forehead.

"I don't suppose you're ready to talk about it," Bruce asked.

"There's not much to tell," Dick winced. "I don't remember much of anything between leaving the manor and you, Alfred, and Elle tucking me into bed."

"Hm," Bruce frowned. His gaze lingering over the head injury.

The ER doctor and Alfred both agreed that his concussion was mild, and, surprisingly, that it was not the source of Dick's brief period of amnesia. Alfred explained what psychogenic shock was, and how the shock of seeing Elle jump to what Dick must have assumed was her death was the likely culprit, and was likely exasperated by the concussion. Bruce supposed he was lucky to remember anything about the evening at all.

Dick sighed. "If I had to forget anything, why couldn't it have been that awful costume I tried on earlier in the evening, eh?" He smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for," Bruce insisted.

"Mm," Dick made a noncommittal sound. "So, why _are _you here so early? Shouldn't you be out scaring the bejesus out of some crooks?"

Bruce sat there for a minute, but couldn't think of an excuse, so he gave Dick the truth. "I guess I'm just worried about you."

Dick raised his knees up, resting his arms across the tops of them. "Seriously? I thought Alfred and the doc said I was fine. I've been hurt much worse than this before, and you've still made the rounds."

"Leslie hasn't seen you yet. She'll be by in the morning to see how you are doing."

"You called her?"

Bruce grinned. "She called me, chum. Right after she saw you on the news wearing the Bat suit I loaned you."

Dick winced. "Yeah, that wasn't supposed to happen. But I can imagine an even worse scenario . . ." When Bruce raised an eyebrow in question, he explained. "I could have been wearing Elle's Bat suit instead. Now, _that_ would have been a tragedy!"

Bruce chuckled.

"Um, Bruce? Everything is all right, isn't it? I mean, nothing came of my wearing your suit, did it? No questions . . ."

Bruce patted his knee, reassuringly. "No. No, nothing to worry about there. Your girlfriend took care of all that to everyone's satisfaction."

Dick frowned, but that space in time remained a frustrating blank. "How did she do that?"

"Heh. It was quite ingenious, actually. She told them the truth." Bruce rubbed the back of neck, as he remembered watching the interview on the television in the ER waiting room.

"What?"

"She told them that the two of you were on your way to a big Halloween bash on the other side of town when you got caught up in the car chase and shoot out. She showed them her invitation and everything." Bruce grinned. "It helps even more that there were news crews covering the party you both were headed to at the same time. As far as all of Gotham is concerned, you were just wearing a very expensive Halloween costume."

"The party!" Dick slapped his forehead, and then yelped. "Ow, ow, ow! Damn it! Ah, I can't believe that I forgot all about the party! Oh, man! Elle must be so disappointed. This was supposed to be her big break!"

"Easy there, chum," Bruce pulled Dick's hand away, relaxing when he saw that the cut hadn't reopened. "She didn't seem to be too upset when we got back from the hospital. In fact, she seemed exhausted. All she wanted to do was crash for a week; her words, not mine. I'm surprised she managed to stay awake long enough to get you settled in."

Dick lowered his head to his knees carefully, and blew out a breath in disgust. "I have got to be the worst boyfriend in the world!"

"Why would you say that," Bruce asked, concerned by Dick's anger.

Suddenly, his head shot up. "Is she okay, Bruce? I mean, really okay?"

"She has a mild concussion, much the same as you, from hitting the passenger side window when your car was hit. She received a small cut just inside of her hairline. The doctors were worried initially about hypothermia from her swim in the river, but it turned out to be nothing that a couple of warmed blankets and a cup of coffee couldn't fix," Bruce assured him. "They put her on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, just in case, although she claimed to not need it. She seemed to be fine when she went to bed. Far better than I would have expected, actually," he frowned as he considered it.

Dick recognized that look. Something was bothering him, "What do you mean by that?"

Bruce pulled himself out of his musings. "Nothing for you to worry about. She's okay, really. The doctor would have kept her overnight had she not been."

"If it bothers you, you know that I will worry about it. You might as well just tell me what you're thinking now, and save time." Dick insisted.

Bruce sighed. Dick had been able to read him since he first came to live with him. It had made Christmas' and birthdays a tad difficult. But he really didn't want to talk about what was bothering him since it concerned Elle. For the same reason Bruce kept quiet when it came to Barbara, he preferred to keep his own council about Elle now. He didn't want to risk alienating Dick by stating observations that his son might misconstrue as being critical or judgmental about the woman he cared for.

And the funny thing was he _liked_ Elle. She was strong and brave, and appeared to be utterly unselfish. Better still, she seemed to place Dick's happiness and welfare above her own. She was patient and forgiving, apparently of not only him, but his family as well, as her tolerance and forgiveness of Damian's rudeness yesterday attested. She had appeared to be wholly sincere every time he had been in her company.

Bruce didn't consider himself a poor judge of character. He had spent years honing the ability, and his natural reticence and suspicious mind made earning his trust and friendship a challenge. Elle seemed to inspire both of those things, and that in and of itself would normally make him suspicious, but, in spite of that, he still truly liked her.

"It's probably nothing," he tried assuring Dick. "It's just some things that seemed odd at the time. I'm sure that in the morning light I'll think everything is normal."

"Odd? How," Dick asked.

"Heh, you are not going to let me by with this, are you?"

"Nope. You might as well spill it. If you are full of it, be assured I will let you know," Dick mouth quirked up at the edges, but his eyes remained serious.

"So you realize that the Fourteenth Street Drawbridge is fifty-five feet above the Gotham River?" At Dick's nod, Bruce continued his musing out loud. "I realize that there are professional cliff divers that can dive from that height, and even higher, without injury, but not many. Fewer still who would attempt it at night, and those that do usually carry a torch so that they can see the water as they approach it. To dive from that height in complete darkness, as Elle did, is almost certainly a death sentence."

Dick pursed his lips. "Some of the reporters called it 'miraculous'," he remembered Alfred telling him.

"For the average person, it would be," Bruce agreed.

"Elle told me once that she had been on the swim team when she was a teenager. She described herself as being very good. She said she has trophies that prove it. She might have also been on the dive team as well."

"Okay," Bruce agreed. "While that seems unlikely, it _isn't_ totally unrealistic. The other thing that I found 'miraculous', was that despite the darkness and the current and the temperature of the water, she was able to find the car and rescue the child. It just seems so impossible . . . _How_ was she able to do that? I'm not sure that _I_ could have done that, even with a grapple and a light, and certainly not without a rebreather."

Dick was quiet as he thought about the questions Bruce had brought up. He wished now that he could remember what all had happened. It made his head hurt. So, he frowned and asked, "So, what is your point, exactly? I mean, she saved the child. What does it matter how she did it?"

Bruce sighed. This is why he didn't want to bring it up in the first place. Dick was getting defensive. "I suppose it doesn't," he admitted. "I was just curious. Look, it's late and you need to rest up. I'll see you in the morning."

Dick slid back down in the bed. "Good night, Bruce. Thanks for checking on me."

Bruce tucked him in like he had when Dick was a child. "I'm right across the hall if you need me in the night. Good night, son." Bruce ran a hand through Dick's hair as he closed his eyes.

_It shouldn't matter_, he thought as he walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. _But it does_.

* * *

Dick opened his eyes after Bruce had closed his door. He rolled onto his side and stared out the window at the night sky as he thought back over the questions Bruce had about Elle's accomplishment.

Would _he_ have been able to save the baby? Probably not without a fully stocked utility belt, which he didn't have last night. He apparently hadn't even tried, if the story he had been told was true, and he supposed it was. Elle had obviously pulled the child from the sunken vehicle; her hair had still been damp when they had arrived home, and her costume, which she had carried home in a bag, had been soaked with river water. Everything had either been verified by eyewitnesses or there had been proof that testified to its validity.

_It shouldn't matter how she managed it_, Dick thought again with a sigh.

"But it does," he whispered to the darkness.

It took a long time for sleep to finally claim him. If he dreamed about the events of the previous evening, he didn't remember it either.

* * *

**The La Quebrada cliff divers in Acapulco, Mexico routinely dive head first into the sea from 40 ft. and even 80 ft. There has never been a fatality of a PROFESSIONAL diver . . . (at least, to the best of my knowledge.)**


	17. The Search

He had slept in. Not surprising since he had lain awake for a long time after Bruce had left his room. Dick had found his mind wandering back over his conversations with Elle they had had over the past month. What he had latched onto, inexplicably, was the story she had told him on their first real date.

Her family legend . . .

It was crazy, but he couldn't let it go. At the time Dick had thought she had been teasing him. Perhaps the story really _had_ passed down in her family, but he had been positive that Elle had believed the same thing he had; that the story was nothing more than that: a story; a fiction; a fairy-tale. Something to enthrall future generations of children. Perhaps it had been a bedtime story that had somehow became something more in the retelling . . . He didn't know.

But it wouldn't go away.

And it explained a lot of the questions that Bruce had brought up.

Of course, so did his own postulations about Elle's swim team successes . . .

Dick climbed out of bed slowly. His headache returned upon sitting up, and he stood up with care. Last thing he needed was to bash his head a second time because he stood up too fast and fainted like some Victorian damsel in distress.

He got dressed, and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He glanced at Elle's door as he passed, but it was already ten o'clock. Surely she was up and waiting for him along with everyone else. He was always eager to see her, but suddenly he wanted to coax that story about her family legend out of her again. And maybe quiz her more about her time on the swim team.

He pushed his way into the kitchen, led there by the aroma of fresh coffee. Only Alfred was there to greet him.

"Good morning, Master Richard," Alfred smiled at him. "How are you feeling today? Much more the thing after a good night's sleep, I hope?"

Dick kept his sleep, or lack of it, under wraps. It wouldn't do to have Alfred shoo him back upstairs.

"I have a bit of a headache, but nothing a cup of that ambrosia I smell wouldn't fix," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Ah, one cup of ambrosia coming up," Alfred said. "And perhaps one or two aspirin, as well?"

"You always know how best to take care of me," Dick praised, taking the coffee and the pills from the butler's hands. Dick washed the aspirin down, nearly scalding his mouth in the process. "Hot," he exclaimed.

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "It _is_ a fresh pot."

"Heh, yeah, I get that . . . now," he said, rubbing his neck, ruefully.

Alfred pressed his lips together to contain his amusement. It always made him want to smile whenever he spotted the young sir copying mannerisms of Master Bruce. When the young man had been a boy, and new to the manor, his imitations of his guardian had been intentional. In the many years since, however, those imitations had become ingrained and as natural to Richard as they were to the master.

"Would you care for breakfast, or would you prefer to wait until your guest has arisen as well?"

Dick glanced up at him, cup paused mid-way to his mouth. "Elle's not up yet?"

"Not that I am aware," Alfred answered. "I have refrained from starting breakfast as Master Bruce wanted to wait on the two of you."

"Tim?"

"Master Timothy went home last night, and has yet to arrive today."

"Damian?"

"Master Damian has eaten already, but will likely join you when the meal is served," Alfred commented. "I do believe the lad is in the midst of another growth spurt. Food seems to be ever on his mind."

"Where's Bruce," Dick asked.

"I do believe he's in his study, going over various reports," Alfred informed him.

Dick grinned. Working from home . . . Damian's appetite was probably putting a dent into the Wayne bank account, much as his, Jason's, and Tim's had. At least, that was the excuse Bruce had always given them whenever he had needed to bring the office home with him.

* * *

They had kept carefully away from the topic of conversation that had ruled the night. After a few words in greeting, Dick chose to curl up with a book on Bruce's couch while the latter continued to go over reports. Thus, it was a surprise when Alfred interrupted them some time later with questions about lunch.

"Will you both be skipping lunch as well," he inquired. "Or may I prepare something to get you through until supper?"

Both glanced up at the clock, startled by the time. It was already past noon. Two stomachs rumbled loudly at the same time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Alfred replied.

Dick closed his book and sat up. "Has Elle been down yet, Alfred?"

"Indeed, not, I'm afraid," the butler looked upset. "Perhaps you might knock upon her door and see if she has taken ill during the night."

"When she said she could sleep for a week, I didn't think she had meant it literally," Bruce commented.

Dick leaped from the couch as if propelled at the thought that she might be suffering upstairs all alone. His thoughts all upon the woman, he was unaware of Bruce and Alfred following him, albeit at a much more restrained pace.

He knocked on the door, his heart pounding. As he waited for a response, he found his mind wandering to thoughts of what Elle would look like freshly aroused from sleep. He imagined her adorable, with tousled hair, and rumpled pajamas, and the flush of sleep across her cheeks. The image then morphed into the same tousled hair, and rosy blush, but the pajamas had been replaced by a sexy, black negligee. The image was shifting to a picture of Elle stumbling nude to the door when he tried knocking a third time.

Bruce and Alfred had caught up with him by this time, and Dick cleared his throat; embarrassed by his imaginings, he was grateful that neither man was gifted with telepathy. Dick's curiosity, however, was swiftly becoming replaced with concern. He hadn't heard a sound in the time he had been standing here. No rustling of linen, impatient mutterings, or even snoring . . .

What if her concussion had been worse than the doctor believed it was, and she had fallen inexplicably into a coma during the night? What if she had taken water into her lungs during her plunge into the river, and she had developed pneumonia? She might even now be in a fever-induced unconscious state! Guilt washed over him. What if he had slept through her cries for help, or pain-wracked coughing? His lewd imaginings from a few minutes ago, inspired by curiosity and attraction, now shamed him.

"No answer?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head, noting Alfred's look of concern. He didn't wait for permission. Reaching out, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Light flooded the room from the opened draperies, leaving no doubt as to the absence of the room's sole occupant. The door to the bathroom was closed, so Dick headed over to it.

Maybe she didn't hear his knocking from in there?

He tapped on the door lightly; then after no response, more firmly. When silence was all that greeted him, he opened the bathroom door and cautiously peeked in. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was also vacant.

He turned to where Bruce and Alfred stood in the doorway. "She's not here," he announced unnecessarily. It was obvious to all that the woman was missing.

Her suitcases were still here, however. Her costume of the previous evening was draped over the shower rod, still drying. Her toiletries were spread over the generous bathroom countertop. Wherever she had gone, it wasn't far, he determined. Maybe she somehow got turned around and was lost, wandering the manor corridors in search of sustenance.

"Do you think she got lost?" The idea was entirely possible, if a little improbable. But then, Dick thought, he had experienced quite a bit of the improbable since meeting Elle.

"We'll split up," Bruce announced.

He and Alfred already had a search grid mapped out after years of having to search the premises for missing or hiding wards. They moved off without a word.

* * *

They had searched the third level as well as the various second floor hallways with its myriad of bedrooms, and were heading down to the main level when the door bell chimed. Dick vaulted over the railing halfway down the stairs, and rushed over.

She had gone outside and had been locked out! Dick grinned with relief as he yanked open the door. Tim stood before him, his helmet tucked under his arm.

"Hey, bro," he smiled.

Dick frowned. Instead of stepping back to allow Tim to enter, he pushed the youth back and craned his neck; peering outside for a stray feminine figure. He was disappointed, but unsurprised to discover that his brother was the only one present.

"Uh, struggling to not feel unwanted here," Tim muttered.

Dick ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Is that her," Bruce spoke from the doorway. Alfred hovered behind his shoulder.

"Her?" Tim glanced from Dick's distraught features, to Bruce's frown, to Alfred's concerned expression. A light went on. "Ah, dude, don't tell me you lost her already!"

Dick sent a rare glare in Tim's direction. "Not helping," he accused. "Did you happen to see Elle out here when you drove up?"

Tim stepped into the foyer as the men gave him room to finally enter. "Nope. Sorry." He glanced around the expansive entry curiously. "Where's Damian? Did you lose him, too," he asked a little hopefully.

The three men exchanged an uncomfortable glance. No one had seen hide nor hair of the youngest member of the family in hours. Elle's disappearance took a new semi-sinister aspect upon the discovery that Damian was missing as well.

Although Dick would swear that Damian wouldn't do anything to hurt Elle, and Bruce had believed he had finally broken Damian of the extremely bad habit of attempting to kill anyone he deemed a threat to his health and happiness, all four men remembered that it was less than a year ago that the boy had attempted to do just that to Tim. Tim had been laid up for a week after the encounter.

"You don't think . . .," Alfred began. "Surely not!"

Tim raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He _totally_ believed the demon-child was still entirely capable of dealing death to those he didn't like. He had spent the majority of the past year fending off numerous unprovoked attacks instigated by the brat. Of course, none of those had been executed with the same lethal force that had been present during that first initial encounter.

"Damian wouldn't . . .," Dick stammered. "I mean, he knows that I . . . th-that Elle and I . . ."

He trailed off. The very fact that Dick was falling hard for the woman might indeed be the integral factor that would set off the child. His eyes widened, and he sent a panicked look toward Bruce.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I think it would be prudent to step up the search and locate Elle as quickly as possible."

"Just in case," Alfred agreed, worriedly.

Dick gulped. "Yeah, sure. Just in case."


	18. Commonality

**Sorry it has taken me so long. I hope to have this and another out this weekend. This chapter and the next are important for character/relationship building, but I promise to make them as interesting as possible. Now Elle has a history of getting herself and those around her into the most odd/improbable situations, much to everyone's consternation! I promise that excitement and angst is brewing on the horizon. **

* * *

Damian carried his satchel with him as he headed for the rec room. It was filled with drawing paper and colored pencils. Normally, he worked on his drawings in his room, but decided that a change in venue might inspire him. Besides, there was a table in there that faced the topiary garden which boasted scads of interesting shapes.

He had taken the back stairs because he hadn't wanted to be interrupted by nosy inquiries into his business. So he was passing by several unused rooms that sat opposite the ballroom when he heard it. He stopped, cocking his head to the side to listen. Except for the few times during the year when Father hosted an event, or when Grayson came over for a movie madness marathon and they turned the television volume sky high to better enjoy the movie explosions, this area was always silent.

_Music_.

Someone was listening to music.

Curious, Damian followed the softly lilting melody. It appeared to be coming from a door to a room Damian didn't remember ever entering. Bruce had kept the door closed ever since he had come to live here, and Damian had just assumed that the door was locked and the room off-limits. He wondered why he had never bothered picking the lock and peeking inside . . . If it had been part of the Batcave, it would have been investigated within the first hour of his arrival nearly a year ago.

Carefully, he touched the handle. It opened silently, the hardware kept in perfect repair despite the fact that the room was never used. The music swelled; much louder now with the door open. He tipped his head past the door frame.

Huh, it made sense, considering the sounds that had been floating into the hallway, Damian was still surprised by what he saw. A music room! He had had no idea that the manor had boasted a dedicated music room.

The room was filled with numerous musical instruments. On the wall and shelves were mounted guitars, saxophones, trumpets, violins, clarinets . . . The list was too many to count, although Damian thought he might come back and count them later, when the room was deserted. It was the large instrument in one corner that stole his attention, however.

Dick's girlfriend sat at the baby grand piano, her fingers moving in complex patterns over the black and white keys. The sounds coming from the piano were sort of impressive, he decided reluctantly. Interested in spite of himself, Damian glanced down the hallway in both directions. Finding no one, he took a step into the room.

The Hamilton woman's back was to the door, so he knew she wouldn't know he was there unless she turned around. He saw a couch across from where he stood. It was also directly behind her. Ever since that night that Bruce had gone to dinner with Dick and came back with glowing (well, glowing for the Batman) praise for the woman and her voice, Damian had been (sort of) wondering what the fuss was all about.

He had managed to put it out of his head after a day or so until Dick had shown up with Hamilton in tow. Again there was a big to-do over her getting the chance to sing for some record producers – So much so that Father allowed Dick to do something Damian would never have expected Father to allow: wear one of his Bat suits out in _public_! But not for patrol, or as a favor to Father, but as a _civilian_! As _Dick_! All for this woman's sake . . .

Why was she so special, he wondered? What was so great about her voice that people (Father and Dick) acted out of character in order to hear her sing? His curiosity had ramped up to a new level since then.

He silently made his way to the couch. He could draw here as easily as he could in the rec room. She was making so much noise he didn't believe she would hear him. He would stay only long enough to hear her sing, and then he would leave, continue on his way to the rec room that was in the family wing.

* * *

Elle had noticed him immediately. The acoustics in the music room were marvelous, so when the door to the room opened, she could hear the change in the quality of the sound. It didn't take her long at all to deduce the identity of her audience, even without turning around.

If the intruder had been Dick or Bruce, either one of the men would have announced themselves, and likely commented on her playing. Alfred would have peered in only long enough to verify the music was coming from Elle, and would likely leave quietly so as not to disturb her. Tim might have acted in either fashion, though she suspected that he would have interrupted her practice for conversation.

Her intruder, by process of elimination, was in all probability, Damian.

That he didn't say anything, but stood in the doorway for several minutes, told her that he was interested in what she was doing, but didn't want to admit to it. The feel of the room had changed dramatically, once the door had been quietly shut, leading her to surmise that her visitor had remained in the room. It no longer felt as though she were alone.

But she didn't feel holes being drilled into the back of her head, which she might have suspected with Damian. He was entertaining himself as he listened. All this Elle determined without hesitation; without missing a single note. Her lips curved up into a secret smile.

Damian thought he was the only one with knowledge, but he didn't realize that Elle knew he was present. That made Elle the one with the knowledge. If Damian was being sneaky, then Elle was being sneakier. And for now, she kept her knowledge to herself.

Knowing she had an audience changed the nature of her practice. When she had first stumbled onto the music room, she had been saddened by its obvious neglect. Oh, the room hadn't been dusty; in fact, it had been spotless, and that had given it away. Alfred, she knew, was a stickler for the details, making him a wonderful housekeeper, but if a music room was well-loved, no matter how great of a housekeeper he was, there still would have been fingerprints and strewn sheet music around. The instruments were kept like trophies, and not like treasures.

She had begun idly playing the piano, feeling a little sorry for herself, that she had missed the chance to reach the level of success that would have forced her father to continue allowing her to live her life on her own; unmolested by events, escorts, and well-meaning suggestions with how to live her own life.

Cedric Hamilton loved his daughter, of that Elle had no doubt, but he didn't really know her. As usual, her father thought he could run her life better than she. He felt she should take an interest in the family business, and an active role in running the company. Elle had wanted to travel and sing and make her own decisions, particularly when it came to her love life; something that had been pretty much non-existent up until now.

So, Elle had played slow songs; sad songs that reflected her mood. Oh, she was happy and proud that she had saved the child, and thrilled to have met the actual Batman and a couple of his sidekicks, but all that was tempered by the eventual conversation she would have with her father once he heard about her involvement with that police shootout. It might be enough to convince him to override her feelings and force her home, despite Dick's insistence of that event's illegality.

Now, though, she had an audience. Not just any audience, but a hostile audience of one. Elle acknowledged that Damian, based upon his reaction to her arrival, had a special relationship with Dick; one he determined that she intruded upon. He didn't like her. While that might not normally have her bent out of shape, Damian was important to Dick, and Dick was important to Elle; thus Damian was important to Elle. She now had an opportunity, small though it was, to influence his opinion of her. She dropped the slow, sad songs and changed to songs that were more upbeat, happier!

After a while with no comments being made from the peanut gallery behind her, Elle decided that quiet reticence must run in the family. Damian was no different than Dick in that he just listened without involving himself. She sighed, preparing herself for an intervention.

"Do you have a request," she asked, without turning around.

There was a shuffle of paper and a rattle of something else that Elle couldn't place without turning around. It didn't matter. She had heard that small, sharp intake of breath that told her she had startled him. She pressed her lips together hard in order to not laugh.

Finally, after a moment of silence, she heard a grunt. "How did you know I was in here? I took extra care to be quiet."

Elle allowed herself a grin. "I heard the door open."

"The door didn't make any sound," Damian exclaimed.

"The door itself didn't," she explained. "But I could hear the change in the acoustics of the room when it did."

Silence, as he processed that bit of information. "How did you know I didn't just shut the door and leave?"

She shrugged, still not looking at the boy behind her. "I could . . . _sense_ your presence. I guess that is the best word for it."

There were sounds of more shuffling and rattling; the slide of a jeans-covered bottom on upholstery furniture material. He was coming to join her. He stopped just behind her, off to the right of her shoulder. At last, she looked back at him, meeting his eyes.

He was frowning at her. Elle decided to not take it personally. She had a feeling that it was something that he just did whenever he was curious.

"So, is there something in particular that you'd like to hear," she repeated her earlier question.

"Um."

He was considering it, she thought, trying to decide if making a request was a sign of weakness. Elle smiled. Little boys could be so easy to read sometimes. She wished the grown versions were all this simple.

* * *

Damian decided that it couldn't hurt to just ask her for what he wanted. She had asked him to, after all. "Would you sing something for me?"

She had already played for him for over an hour. He had, at first, become impatient while waiting for her to start singing. But soon the lilting melodies soothed him enough that he felt comfortable to bring out his art supplies. He didn't think she could hear him over the sounds of her playing, and he had strived to remain quiet, just in case discovering his presence would make her stop.

Now, he found that she had known he was there from the beginning. While he probably should be irritated by that, instead it intrigued him. And although she hadn't used his name, somehow he was sure she knew exactly whom she was addressing when she first spoke to him.

"What would you like to hear," she asked.

Damian took a step over to stand beside the bench; the better to watch her fingers stroke the keys. "I don't know," he reluctantly admitted. "I don't know any songs."

This startled her, and she looked at him. "None?"

He dipped his head, hating that his lack of musical knowledge made him feel inferior. He shrugged. He watched her reaction out of his periphery.

She didn't look smug, he thought, relieved. But she was frowning at him. He didn't know why, but the expression didn't look comfortable on her face, like she didn't do it a lot.

"Didn't your mother ever sing to you as a child," she asked softly.

"Tt," he snorted at the thought. "Not hardly."

"What about Bruce . . . um, your father? Didn't he ever sing to you or listen to music in the car?"

"I've only lived with my father for the past eleven months or so," he told her. It wasn't like she couldn't find out by asking Grayson, so he didn't really feel like he was giving up the information.

"My God," she breathed. "I couldn't imagine having to live my life without music. No wonder your brother came to listen as often as he did."

"I haven't lived my life without music," Damian corrected. "Only that no importance was placed upon it, and my mother never felt compelled to sing."

"What music have you listened to," she asked, looking at him seriously.

He pursed his lips as he pondered the question. "Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven . . ."

"Ah," she smiled, "the classical composers. I love them, too. But there is a broad range of music out there to explore," she told him.

She scooted over, and patted the bench beside her. He wondered if there was a trick involved. After a moment, Damian relaxed; the knowledge that he could still kill her just as swiftly and effectively from the piano bench as from anywhere reassuring him. He sat down beside her.

Her fingers tickled the keys of the piano, and she played a little portion of a song for him.

"Ragtime," she informed him.

She caressed a different song, this one with a different tempo. "Swing," she said.

She played another tune; a different rhythm. "One of my personal favorites," she admitted. "It's called Jazz."

She stopped and turned toward him. "I have a feeling that you might appreciate rock and roll, but it loses something without the guitar and the percussion. I can play guitar," her eyes flitted up to where said instrument was displayed, "but having the entire band would be better for appreciating it the first time out."

"I have a USB upstairs in my bag. It has an assortment of music on it, some of which is rock. I had planned to use it at the Halloween party last night when my turn came up, but that didn't work out so well," her shoulders drooped a little. "I'd need something to play it, but I could sing some of those songs for you, and give you a little taste of different styles." Her eyes scanned the room for an appropriate device.

Damian nodded. "The rec room has surround sound," he volunteered.

She grinned. "Okay. My bag is on the nightstand beside the bed. Can you find the memory stick, and bring it to me?"

He hesitated. "You'd trust me to go through your things?"

"You're on a mission," she explained. "I don't think you would be the kind of spy to let distractions come between him and his goal." She smiled. "Besides, Dick trusts you, and I trust Dick."

Damian's eyes widened. How did she do that? How could she know him so well? How did she make him feel so . . . comfortable?

"You can do it," she assured him. "Better yet, make sure no one sees you," she instructed. "This will be a private concert, just for you."

He liked that. Something he didn't have to share with others; something for him alone. "Did you sing these songs for Grayson?"

She startled a moment. "You call your brother by his last name?"

Damian shrugged. "I call everyone by their last name . . . Except Father."

She seemed to accept that. "Hm, that sounds reasonable," she said. "As for Dick, he might have heard me sing one or two of these at the club, but most of them he's never heard me sing before."

Damian's mouth twitched up a little at the thought that he would hear her sing these songs before his brother. "Okay," he agreed. "Do you know where the rec room is?"

She shook her head. "Not a clue."

"Wait here, then. When I get back, I'll take you."

* * *

Elle watched him open the door and peek out, making sure that no one would see him. It made her grin. He slipped out silently. He might make a pretty decent spy one day, she thought.

While she waited for him to return, she wandered over to the sofa he'd been sitting on. There was the source of the paper rustling, and colored pencils the source of the odd rattle that she had heard.

Curious, she picked up a paper. That was a rather splendid rendition of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, she thought. She picked up another one, then another. An excellent speedboat; a pretty ferocious grizzly bear; an odd-looking plane . . . That one looked familiar, but not. She tilted the paper at a different angle. It was black and its wings sharp like a . . . a bat! That was it! He drew a picture of the Batplane!

Elle remembered seeing it once on the news during the past year. The story had been about some big battle fought by the Justice League, and there had been footage that had included Batman flying over the threat in the Batplane! She thought that Damian must have seen the same news footage. It would be just the sort of thing that would spark a young boy's imagination.

She studied the drawing anew. It was incredibly detailed. What Elle had seen on television had been little more than a shape; its details obscured by distance and smoke, only enough to know it resembled a bat. This picture bespoke a mind with amazing capabilities or else personal knowledge. She had gotten the impression that Damian was more intelligent than the average eleven year old, but . . . .

Ah, wait! Damian lived in Gotham City! Of course, he would have far more opportunities to glimpse the Batplane than someone living in Chicago, or even Bludhaven, Gotham's sister city. Satisfied with that reasoning, Elle carefully set the drawing back with the others.

She picked up the last drawing. Her mouth dropped open. It was of _her_! Damian had drawn a picture of Elle in the music room playing the piano. You couldn't see her face because her back had been towards the artist, except for a glimpse of cheek as she had tilted her head to one side as she had played. But it was her nonetheless.

She smiled, and felt a little misty.

Damian had pictured her as a threat, and yet he hadn't taken his vengeance upon her in his drawing. He could have easily made her grossly fat or given her horns, but instead he had taken care to make the drawing realistic. It was even a bit flattering, given its somewhat dreamlike quality of fuzzy edges. Either way, the boy was truly a budding artist!

Such potential, she thought. All of the drawings still had a childlike quality about them, but there was so much more to them than anything she might have seen from another child of similar age. Not that she had seen that much, but she had visited Chicago's Children's Museum a couple of times when they had art displayed by local children. Damian's would have fit in perfectly, she thought. His would have even had the potential for a showcase!

Elle set her drawing back in the pile reluctantly. She wanted it. Unfortunately, he hadn't invited her to look at any of it. She had been rude looking without his invitation. But knowing it was there made Elle begin to scheme of a way to get him to show them to her. It might be as simple as just asking, but somehow Elle knew there wasn't much about Damian Wayne that was simple.

She moved back to the shelves lining one of the walls. Opening some of the cupboards beneath, Elle located just what she had been looking for; a CD/network playing console with a USB port. A quick glance proved it was hooked up and ready to go. Looking up at the ceiling, Elle now spotted the cleverly hidden speakers. She could visit the rec room another time. This would be perfect! Much better acoustically for Damian's enjoyment and it cut back their risk of discovery that much longer.

She moved back to the piano bench to wait her little spy.


	19. Cutting Loose

**Pay attention to the changes in POVs. I separated them out with a break, but wanted to give you a heads up that the viewpoints come from not just Dick and Elle, but also Damian, and at one point switch back and forth quickly. The song I mention here is "_I Like That Old Time Rock and Roll_" written by George Jackson, Thomas E. Jones III, and uncredited lyrics by Bob Seger; performed by Seger on his album, _Stranger in Town._ I don't own any part of this song; I just like it and consider it a rock and roll classic. (That I don't own Batman or any of the characters of the DC universe goes without saying.)**

* * *

Dick hadn't come very far down the hallway that led to the ballroom before the sounds of music drifted to his ears. Where was it coming from? It took him a moment to remember the music room near the end of the hall.

Alfred had told him that long-ago Waynes' had hosted many a musical evenings, and that the room had been one of Martha Wayne's favorites. It had also been a room that Dick had always thought of as off-limits as Bruce had always ever kept the door closed. He knew the door wasn't locked, but it might as well have been for as many times as he had ventured here.

One. One time, and that was only to peek in at the array of instruments that were displayed on walls and shelves. Not that music was ever forbidden or that there weren't musical instruments to be found elsewhere in the house . . . Dick had learned to play guitar while growing up. There was an upright piano in one corner of the living room. It just wasn't as important as the mission. Nothing ever was as important as the mission. Thus, while music wasn't forbidden, it was seldom played within the household when it wasn't being used as a tool during a party or event.

But Dick couldn't help but wonder if they had, for all of Bruce's wealth, been all the poorer without it, however, when he got close enough to recognize the song seeping through the doors of the music room. He could hear her singing to the song as he neared, and grinned. Why didn't he think to look here for her first when they thought she was lost? Elle obviously had turned down the wrong hall, but upon finding a room full of instruments, he knew she couldn't resist exploring. At least they no longer had to worry that Damian had kidnapped her with the intent of doing her in!

"Anything?"

Dick glanced behind him to see Bruce trotting towards him.

"What's that sound," he asked as he joined Dick. "Ah, I see she found the music room," answering his own question.

"We should have looked here first," Dick told him, repeating his earlier thought.

Bruce's mouth quirked. "_That_ doesn't sound like jazz."

"Jazz is just her favorite style of music, but not the only one she appreciates . . . apparently," Dick tilted his head, listening.

"Apparently? You mean, you didn't know?"

"I've only ever heard her sing jazz . . . Well, that and the occasional lullaby."

Now, Bruce's eyebrow quirked. "Lullaby . . .? Wait, stop! I don't want to know."

Dick elbowed him, grinning even as heat rushed to his cheeks. "She sang me to sleep once or twice when I was sick, you pervert. Nothing happened."

Bruce snorted. "You must be losing your touch," he teased. "And Alfred tells me she has her own room . . ."

Dick blushed up to the roots of his hair, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Ducking his head, he stammered, "Uh, yeah, well . . . I _am_ her first boyfriend, after all. There's no rush . . . And it's not like _I_ have a playboy image to cultivate . . . Ah, forget it! Never mind!"

Bruce chuckled at Dick's discomfort. He ruffled the younger man's hair playfully, as he used to when Dick had been a boy. "No," he assured him. "I'm proud of you. Your actions and the reasons behind them only go to prove how much you genuinely care about this young woman. It also speaks well of her character that she continues to bring out the best in you."

Dick shrugged his shoulders. "Elle makes me want to be a better man."

Bruce's hand settled on the back of his son's neck, and he looked him in the eye. "Considering that you are the best man I know, that's truly saying something."

Dick's self-effacing smile faltered at the praise. He stared for a moment. That was the greatest compliment that he had ever been given, and for it to come from Bruce . . . He didn't know what to say to that. "Oh. Wow . . .That is . . ."

"Master Bruce! Master Richard! Have you located our guest?" Alfred's voice interrupted.

The moment shattered, Bruce's hand dropped away and Dick stepped back; both turning to greet Alfred and Tim as they hurried down the hall to meet up with them. The memory, however, was tucked away into that special place Dick kept all of his most treasured moments. He would save it for later, when he was alone, to pull it out and savor it fully.

"I believe we have, Alfred," Bruce was saying.

The two men slowed as they neared as the music finally drifted to their ears. Alfred looked startled as he realized that music was once again flowing from a room too long silent. Tim cocked his head as he listened.

"_I Like That Old-Time Rock and Roll_?" Tim marveled. "Who's that singing?"

"Elle," Dick was smiling again.

"I guess the demon-brat didn't off her yet," Tim remarked.

"Tim!" Bruce growled.

"Master Timothy," Alfred reproached him.

"What? It was merely an observation," Tim defended himself.

A screech of furniture moving interrupted the notes of the song. Tim's observation struck a chord of another kind in the hearts of the men and they rushed the last few yards to the room; determined to prevent any possible harm to the woman who now owned Dick's heart. As the door was thrown open, Dick stumbled to startled halt just a couple of feet inside the room. Bruce nearly plowed him over as the rest of the men barreled in behind him. All of them stared in awe at the scene before them.

* * *

The music was turned up so loud that even Elle remained unaware that they were no longer alone in the room. She and Damian had shoved the couch back in their eagerness to have more room, and resumed their activities with renewed glee and vigor.

Elle sang the words to the song as she twirled and danced with joyful abandon. It had taken Damian a little time to relax and loosen up enough to join her, but eventually he had, and Elle was thrilled! It was a major victory in her campaign to win the boy over, and she was reveling in her success!

Damian, although stiff in the beginning, was now moving to the rhythm of the music with almost an unbridled enthusiasm; copying most of Elle's moves but now comfortable enough to add a few of his own ideas into the mix. He was definitely seeing the value in music now; if only to reduce the boredom of repetitive movements found in aerobics and certain exercise regimens, he qualified as an afterthought. Dancing, he decided was a worthy way to increase cardiovascular circulation and increase stamina. If the activity was almost amusing, then all the better, he thought.

* * *

Damian was dancing. _Dancing_!

Dick wanted to laugh out loud! This was wonderful . . .

And if that miracle wasn't enough, he was having a blast while doing it! The huge grin on his face attested to that very fact. For the most part, his back was to his still hidden audience, but they had caught glimpses of that elusive expression as the boy gyrated to the classic rock and roll song with Elle.

* * *

Elle spun around in her dance. She opened her eyes to watch Damian finally cutting loose, and saw, much to her dismay, the entirety of the household gaping at them from just inside the doorway.

Damian still had his back to them, but any second he would spot their audience and close down completely. She knew this about him like she knew her own name. The embarrassment she knew he would suffer would guarantee that he would never ever allow himself to experience such a release as dancing provided again.

_Worse_! He would blame her for what he would consider his humiliation, and the fragile bit of trust she had earned from him would be forever broken. She knew without saying that forgiveness was not this boy's strong suit.

Her eyes widened, panic written in every inch of her expression, she shook her head vigorously and pointed firmly to the door. Her facial expression shifted instantly to its previous happiness the second Damian glanced in her direction. She looked over his head, relieved to find that they were once more alone in the room. Damian followed her glance curiously, but saw nothing and so continued to spin, lunge, twist, and jump uninhibited; hidden from unwanted, prying eyes.

* * *

It didn't take a mind reader to realize what Elle was telling them. Tim and Bruce did a mad scramble to get out of the room before Damian saw them. Dick turned and threw himself bodily into the hallway, landing in an ignominious heap at Bruce's feet as Alfred hurriedly shut the door behind them.

"Well, there's a sight you don't see every day," Tim remarked, dryly. The understatement doing more to emphasize the sheer wonder of the scene more than anything else that could have been said at that point.

"That smile . . .," Alfred began. "Master Bruce did you see?"

"More like a grin, Alfred. Yes, I did. I didn't think it was possible," Bruce wondered aloud, reaching down to help Dick back to his feet.

Dick rubbed his elbow as he laughed. Damian dancing, grinning, and laughing like the little boy he was . . . It was a wish come true; something he had wanted for the boy since he had shown up at their door sullen, self-important, and yet riddled with enormous amounts of self-doubt that he constantly tried to hide behind a mien of anger and biting sarcasm.

"Are you all right," Bruce asked, touching Dick's arm above the elbow he had struck upon landing on the hard marble tiles.

"I am more than all right," he replied, purposely misconstruing Bruce's question. "That was amazing!" This memory was going to be tucked alongside of the compliment that Bruce had bestowed upon him just minutes ago.

Bruce grabbed Dick's wrist and pushed up the sleeve to his sweater to inspect the possible injury. "I meant your elbow," he clarified, bemused by the situation.

The area was slightly reddened, but no dramatic discoloration had occurred and there was no sign of swelling. He allowed Dick to retrieve his arm from his inspection and pull his sleeve back down.

"So, what are we supposed to do now," Tim asked the obvious, looking from one man to the other.

The song was ending. Dick moved back to the door.

"We're going to join them," he said, waiting until he was certain that he wouldn't interrupt any potentially humiliating situations before he threw open the door; making enough noise upon entry that both parties would be immediately alerted to his presence.

* * *

Damian was panting from his exertion. As soon as he saw Dick, he moved to the sofa and began picking up his papers and coloring pencils. He shoved them all into his backpack.

Elle tried not to be disappointed as she watched her portrait disappear inside the scruffy pack. She would be here for another entire day, however. She would be leaving Gotham with that picture in her luggage yet, she determined.

"There you are," Dick walked up to her and kissed her in greeting.

Elle blushed charmingly, but leaned into the kiss nonetheless. She was helpless to resist the man's affections, even in front of his family. Despite her reaction to his earlier unexpected entrance, she was genuinely thrilled to see him. Just his presence was enough to make her happy!

"Here I am," she agreed, smiling warmly at him. "Have you been looking for me?"

"I have," he told her, touching his nose to hers. "Imagine my dismay when I go to wake you for brunch, only to discover that you are missing."

"Oh," she sighed. Then realizing what he had just said, she straightened abruptly. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I turned the wrong way and took the stairs at the end of the hall. I peeked in some of the rooms to see if I could get my bearings, and . . . Well, when I looked in here I sort of became distracted."

"Good afternoon, Elle," Bruce greeted her. "Have you and Damian been getting to know each other?" He acknowledged his youngest son by dropping a hand on his shoulder. Damian didn't actually smile at him, but neither did he shrug the touch off much as he would have only a week ago.

Her eyes widened. "Afternoon," she squeaked. "I had no idea! Where did the morning go?" That last, she was asking Damian.

"Elle was introducing me to different styles of music, Father," Damian explained, still slightly breathless.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he nodded, unaware of his own enthusiasm. "I was curious. She sang for me like she did for you and Grayson."

"Did she indeed, Master Damian?" Alfred stepped into the room next. Tim followed on the butler's heels. "And was it all that Master Richard and your father described?"

Damian glanced up at his father, and then at Dick, who had turned to face him; his arm around Elle's waist. She leaned against him, and tilted her head; curiosity evident in her face.

* * *

Everyone was awaiting his opinion.

Damian hesitated. If he criticized Hamilton's performance, then everyone would remain mad at him . . . And it might hurt her feelings, he supposed. He hated to admit she was any good, but if he said she was anything other than good, he would be lying.

He had _liked_ her singing – a lot. When she had started dancing around him as she sang, his lips had curved upward. She had been funny, but also had appeared to be truly enjoying herself. She hadn't cared that he had smiled, although she might have supposed he had been laughing at her – He hadn't been, of course. Her happiness had actually been infectious.

He had tried to decline when Hamilton had urged him to join her dancing. He had managed to hold out for a couple of songs before he finally gave in. He hadn't known was he had been doing. The idea of gyrating to music had seemed utterly ridiculous to him, and he hadn't wanted to appear foolish, even if Hamilton was doing an excellent job of it.

But, then again, she hadn't _really_ looked foolish. Her moves were synchronized to the beat of the music, and it sort of made sense – in a way. The individual moves had looked rather simple, but put together, they grew more complicated. Despite himself, Damian had been intrigues. Eventually he had given in and tried to emulate what Hamilton was doing, watching her closely for the moment when she began to mock his clumsy attempts. But . . . that moment never came.

Hamilton had smiled, but it had been in encouragement and maybe even happiness. It had made him feel like he done something good, like he had accomplished something almost important by making her happy. She had laughed, but not contemptuously. And after a moment, he had smiled with her. Not long after that, he had laughed with her! She had acted thrilled with him. The mood had been addicting. With each consecutive song, Damian had lost more of his inhibitions. He had had . . . Dare he admit it? . . . Fun!

Now, with everyone looking at him, he was put on the spot. Would the others think him silly for enjoying her singing? He looked at Dick. Of course, he would think she sang great . . . She was his girlfriend! But Damian had heard Father talking about Hamilton to Alfred after he had met her. He had heard him tell Alfred that her voice was impressive.

If she actually did sing great, then how would it be foolish to admit that she had sounded good? Damian wouldn't wax eloquent, but he could, he thought, tell the truth without fear of ridicule.

He shrugged. "Her voice was acceptable," he admitted.

Glancing at Hamilton, he saw her smile falter the tiniest bit. He supposed she didn't know him well enough yet to realize that for him, that was high praise. He felt a little twinge in his chest that she might think he didn't like her singing after all. Hamilton's disappointment wasn't acceptable to him.

He amended his statement. "Actually, it was more than acceptable," he said.

Every head swiveled back in his direction.

"It was . . .," he searched for the right word. Remembering his father's description, he nodded. "Impressive."

He wanted to wince at the silence that followed. They all might as well have gasped aloud. But Hamilton practically glowed, and that, he found, was acceptable enough to ignore the others.

Still, he suddenly wanted to change the subject to something less embarrassing. If they continued in this vein, it might come to light that he had indulged in dance. That was unacceptable! So, when his stomach growled, Damian leaped at the idea.

"I'm hungry," he stated to the room in general. "Is it time for lunch yet, Pennyworth?"

"Indeed, it is, Master Damian," Pennyworth agreed. "Lunch will be served shortly." The butler looked at Hamilton. "You must be starved, Miss Arabella. It is nearly one o'clock now."

Hamilton's stomach rumbled loudly in response. Instead of blushing like Gordon might have, she laughed. "I think that I am, Alfred. And if you would like, later, I could sing a few songs for you and Tim as well. A kind of mini-concert; if you like."

"I, for one, would love to hear what all the fuss is about," Tim volunteered.

"I think that would be a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, Miss Arabella," Alfred remarked. "I would enjoy the opportunity to hear the voice that Master Damian has deemed to be impressive. A high compliment, to be sure."

A squeeze on his shoulder as he and his father moved to follow everyone out of the music room, made Damian look up. Father's lips twitched up in a rare smile at him, and he winked! As Damian started toward the dining room, the shock mellowed out into pleasure.

Maybe Hamilton wasn't so bad, after all. She might even be okay.

* * *

**I had the hardest time coming up with a rock song that Elle could perform that was classic and something that I thought Damian would enjoy. I came up with several others, but this one stood out as one that either a man or woman could sing, and one with lyrics that Elle wouldn't object to singing to an eleven year old boy. She sang other songs for him that I don't mention, so it might be fun if you could name a classic rock song that Elle might have performed for Damian before Dick and the others stumbled upon them. (Keep in mind the limits that Elle would place upon them - She doesn't know Damian's background, so lots of violence, bad language, and sex cut out many songs that I love, but might not consider age appropriate for a child.) I'm not going to show Elle's mini concert she gave for the family, but one song you might like to look up, if you haven't heard it before, is "_Remedy (I Won't Worry)_" as performed by Jason Mraz. It was written by Mraz, Lauren Christy, Scott Spock, and Graham Edwards. I don't own any part of the song, I just like picturing Elle singing and dancing to it. Can you picture her coaxing Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Alfred to cut loose a little with her? Damian might even be willing to join in if everyone else does . . .  
**


	20. A Not-So-Simple Resolution

"You know there is a simple way to resolve this matter," Bruce remarked, sitting in a chair beside Dick's bed.

It was four o'clock on a Sunday morning. Dick blinked bleary eyes at him and the clock.

"Did you just get in?"

"Twenty minutes ago," he admitted.

Dick pulled himself up in the bed, and ran both hands through his hair. He barely reacted when one brushed the still tender area of his forehead. His headache had vanished with the excitement of yesterday morning when he couldn't find Elle, and only returned the evening before; a mild, if annoying, ache behind his left eye. He hadn't even bothered taking anything for it.

The reaction didn't go unnoticed by Bruce, however. Nothing ever slid by that man unless it was something he was purposely ignoring. He stood up and leaned over his son, flicking on the bedside light as he gently pushed back Dick's hair to inspect the slight wound. Dick waved him away.

"It's nothing," he assured him. "It's fine. It's just a little tender to the touch still."

Bruce ignored him as he finished the inspection. Once satisfied the injury was indeed healing properly, he returned to his chair.

"In a couple of months, you won't even have a scar," he told him. "But keep in mind that head injuries are no small matter. Several mild concussions, even over the course of years, can lead to serious complications later on."

Dick narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that? Are you having any problems that I should know about?"

"No."

"You've been doing this longer. You've had far more concussions than I have had; more serious ones as well."

"I didn't come in here to compare medical records, you know," Bruce sighed.

"You could have asked me to join you tonight, you know," Dick returned. "Did you at least take Tim or Damian with you?"

"Damian. Tim has a big exam on tomorrow morning." Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "Have you thought any more about the questions I had for you?"

"I've done practically nothing but since you brought them up."

"And . . .?"

It was Dick's turn to sigh. "Short of tossing her off the bridge into the river again and timing her, I don't see what more I can do without making her suspicious. I'd really appreciate not having a lot of suspicions and distrust between me and my girlfriend right now."

"Hm, well, about that," Bruce began. "As I was saying when I first came in, I think I have a simple resolution that might help clear up the matter, and give us a glimpse into what she's capable of."

Dick tilted his head in disbelief. "What she's capable of? What the hell . . .? Elle's a singer, not a super-villain! If she happens to be a good swimmer, too, so what? A lot of normal, every-day people happen to be good swimmers!"

"Don't take what I'm suggesting out of context. I'm not saying she's a bad person, only that she was managed to do something that most people wouldn't have had a prayer of accomplishing. She fought a tough current in pitch black water to locate a sunken vehicle and successfully rescue an infant who, for all intents and purposes, should have died."

"_Most people_ being the operative words here," Dick argued. "And don't tell me you would have preferred the baby to have drowned, Bruce, because I know you better than that."

"_No, of course not_! I am thrilled the child survived to be reunited with its parents!" Bruce tried to hold onto his temper. Dick was going on the defensive again, although why he felt Bruce's curiosity was a threat, he didn't know.

"Then why, Bruce? Why do you keep questioning this? Can't you just accept it as the miracle it is, be happy with the outcome, and move on?" Dick held out his hands in a supplicating manner. His questions taking on a pleading tone.

Bruce looked at his son for a long moment. "Because," he said quietly. "I don't believe in miracles."

"Why does everything have to have an explanation? I don't understand. She didn't do anything wrong, Bruce! I don't think she's even capable of doing anything wrong." Dick dropped his hand into his lap in frustration.

"I never said she did," Bruce pointed out, becoming defensive himself. "And, for the record, I agree with you. I don't believe Elle is capable of doing something she knows is wrong. At least, certainly not on the scale that you and I are used to dealing with."

"Not on _any_ scale . . ." Dick huffed.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet. It was a pose he often took when contemplating a serious issue. Finally he looked up at his son. "Dick, no one is perfect . . ."

Dick looked toward his window, as if unable to process the idea that Elle was capable of even a small wrong. He knew it was stupid. Of course, Bruce was right. She wasn't perfect . . . But she was perfect for _him_. And it wasn't as though he hadn't been thinking about much else than the questions that Bruce had poised to him the day before. He too wanted to know how she had managed to do what she did, but part of him was afraid to look too closely. As if the knowledge might have the power to snatch her away from him.

"What is your simple resolution, and will she still be speaking to me at the end of it?"

"I don't see why she would be upset with you. You said she likes to swim, did you not?" Bruce leaned back. Now that Dick was ready to listen, he expected no problems. The plan _was_ simple.

"Yes, but . . ."

"I have put up a high dive since Damian has come to live here. As you use the gym equipment in the cave, you've probably haven't taken the opportunity to see it." Bruce remarked, almost casually.

"No one mentioned it," Dick admitted cautiously. He was beginning to understand Bruce's plan, and it was, as usual, brilliant.

"I would suggest that you spend the afternoon trying it out. We can make a day of it. A family event, as it were," Bruce smiled. "Perhaps you can convince Elle to show you her moves. Have a race; compete on the dive; see how long everyone can hold their breath . . . Play Marco Polo, or volleyball afterwards."

Dick's mouth quirked at the thought. Elle would probably love that; Aquaman's cousin, indeed. "She does seem to love the water . . ."

Elle would probably have a blast, and so would Tim and Damian. She would never know that Bruce would be testing her abilities. It would merely be a day at play. Maybe it would put to rest all of his own questions and the crazy ideas that had been swirling in the back of his mind since Bruce first brought it up.

* * *

"You have an indoor swimming pool," Elle asked, at brunch the next morning. Although why she should be surprised, she didn't know. Nearly every wealthy family home boasted not only a pool, but tennis courts, private gymnasiums, saunas and the like.

Dick grinned. "And an outdoor one as well, but if we thought the lake was cold in October, I'd say the pool would be even colder in November."

"It has a high dive, too!" This was added by Damian who was obviously excited by the idea that his father and brother had come up with.

Elle looked around at everyone at the table with her. She sat down her orange juice with care. "You want to make a day of it?"

"Alfred has agreed to prepare a picnic lunch that we can eat around the pool," Bruce told them. He looked at Damian. "There will be no swimming for an hour after eating however."

At the boy's pout, Dick quickly offered another alternative. "There are other games we can play while we wait, Dami. Bruce told me about the new high dive he put in this summer. I'm looking forward to seeing you use it. Can you do tricks off of it yet?"

Perking up, Damian nodded. "I can to a double somersault off of it . . . backwards!"

Elle grinned at the thought. She bet she could show Damian a few tricks off the high dive that would blow the boy's mind. It was times like these that she missed living at the mansion by the Great Lake. Her father had also put in indoor and outdoor pools for her mother, but had totally revamped them especially for their daughter and her interests. Her indoor high dive was rumored to be one of the tallest created for a private home, and the depths of both pools reached a whopping fifty feet!

Of course, Elle used Lake Michigan to increase her strength and stamina as well as affording her the opportunity to dive to even greater depths. Nothing beat diving and swimming in the ocean, but her father and mother seldom vacationed by the coast for some reason she never understood.

As the family looked to Elle for final approval of the day's entertainment, she felt torn. She so loved to swim, but she knew that the chances that the pool at Wayne Manor was suitable for her needs were slender. If she agreed, and then discovered that she needed to back out at the last minute, what would her excuse be? For her own protection, her father insisted that she keep certain information about herself secret to prevent people from using her weaknesses against her. But Dick and his family weren't her enemies nor her father's.

Because her mother had the same affliction, Elle really never realized she had inherited it until the year she turned sixteen. All the precautions her father had taken to protect her mother had extended to her simply because she lived within the same household, and she had never understood what she was up against until subjected to the source of her allergy repeatedly. Even her father had been taken by surprise, as like her, he had thought she had escaped the genetic anomaly.

But it had been seven years since her last exposure and reaction. It had taken repeated exposure to cause her initial reaction to begin with. Sure, the doctors had told her that it wasn't something that she would be able to develop a tolerance for, and had even suggested that her reactions in the future could become more severe, but certainly after seven years, it would be as it had been at the beginning . . . She had managed an entire season of competitive swimming before succumbing to the allergen. Surely it would be a non-issue for a single afternoon. Perhaps she would even keep it short by only staying for an hour.

Everyone's expectant, hopeful faces decided her. The risk was worth it. The worst that could happen would be a minor rash that could be controlled with antihistamine. To be on the safe side, however, she would pack her epi-pen of adrenaline in with her towel. That would only be needed in cases of extreme reaction. She had never needed a shot of adrenaline before, though, so she didn't believe she would need one this time either. Her father was just over-protective in his insistence that she continue to carry it with her. Elle had only packed it out of habit.

Dick knew she had been a champion competitive swimmer. The likelihood that he would understand if she told him she was allergic to chlorine was slim. He would more likely think she was rejecting something important to him and his family. And Damian was looking at her so hopefully . . . Yes, she decided, it was worth the risk. What's a little itching among friends, after all?

"I'd love to," Elle told them.

Damian whooped, earning a look of reprimand from Alfred. He quieted, but grinned, totally unrepentant.

"Oh, um," Elle frowned suddenly. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think to pack a bathing suit."

Bruce smiled gently at her as he lifted a cup of Alfred's coffee. "Not a problem," he assured her. "Dick knows where you can find something suitable for a day frolicking by the pool."

She grinned at Dick, looking forward to the unexpected, afternoon treat.


	21. Pledges and Promises

**Dick and Elle suddenly recognize that the something special they had seen in one another is beginning to become something _more_; more than they could have hoped for, and maybe, just maybe, even more than they might have dreamed possible.**

Elle stood gaping at the closet's contents. Sure, she had heard of Bruce Wayne's reputation with the ladies, but . . . Jeez!

"You should be able to find your size in a variety of colors and styles. Whatever you choose will be yours to keep, of course." Dick was saying.

There had to be a hundred different bathing suits lining the closet's racks. How many women had come in here before her? She didn't know what bothered her more: Dick's father's playboy status confirmed in spades or Dick's complete acceptance that keeping entire wardrobes of women's clothing in an entirely male household was normal!

Her eyes perused the size 2's and she swallowed. She would _not_ be intimidated by this . . . Wait! There was a size 0? Oh my God! Who wore a size 0 anyway? Elle looked around, searching for her much larger size 9. She breathed a sigh of relief upon finding it. She was pleased to see that women that ran to size 12's and 14's were still in the running as well. Apparently, Bruce was an equal-opportunity playboy, she thought, amusement edging its way past her disturbance.

"Is something wrong," Dick asked.

"Do you always keep bathing suits and other clothing for female guests to choose from?"

Understanding lit his eyes. To her relief, he blushed. "I guess this kind of looks . . . um . . . uh . . ."

"Bad?" Elle wasn't above teasing him about it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Dick's discomfort was plain to see. It would probably relieve him if she admitted that she didn't think his female guests were shown this room very often. But, somehow it had surprised her that Bruce probably did. Yeah, yeah, he had a reputation that she had already heard about; honestly, who, that ran in their circles, hadn't? But this didn't seem to fit the man she had met.

He seemed a lot quieter than Elle had expected . . . And sober! She had had a mildly disturbing moment when she considered that the man whose reputation had stretched around the globe might possibly hit on his son's girlfriend. She understood within a few minutes in his company that that level of depravity wasn't in him.

She frowned. In fact, the level of depravity that she had expected based upon the things she had heard in whispers during cocktails was nowhere to be found. The Bruce Wayne that Dick had introduced her to was a complete gentleman, not the drunkard and wastrel that had been described to her! He was far more intelligent than she had been led to believe as well. He took an interest in his children's lives, but didn't seem to feel the need to live it for them.

Wow! Her father could learn a thing or two from Mr. Wayne about fatherhood, she thought. But Elle was relieved that Cedric Hamilton didn't keep closets full of women's clothing that didn't belong to his daughter. While she didn't want her father to be alone for the rest of his life, she had always been impressed with his devotion to her mother's memory.

Taking pity on Dick, Elle shoved him out the door. "I'll pick something out, and meet you downstairs."

"If you want," he offered. "You could model a few, and I'll be glad to give you my honest opinion about them."

The flirtatious comment caught her completely by surprise, and Elle burst out laughing. "Oh, wow," she gasped after a few moments. "Does that actually work for you?"

Dick pretended to be offended. "Scads of women would fight for the chance to model bikinis for me," he stated.

She didn't doubt that a bit. "Perhaps, but some of these more complicated bathing suits would be difficult to put on after I scratch their eyes out," she purr into his ear.

He grinned down at her. "You'd really fight for me?"

The moment was a teasing one, but Elle suddenly felt the weight of the topic. She straightened, pulling back out of his arms. "If it were necessary; yes, I would. But I won't fight _you_," she said, seriously. "I just wanted to make that clear."

* * *

Dick frowned at the sudden change in tone. What was she trying to tell him? "I don't understand. You will never need to fight me. I wouldn't ever hurt you, Elle."

"What I mean is that I won't fight to keep someone who isn't faithful to me. I will fight to keep you safe; to keep you healthy; to protect your name and reputation, but I won't fight a woman for you that you go to freely." Elle sighed, leaning back against the door frame of the closet. "We've never really spoken of things like this, but I think that we've progressed far enough that certain expectations should be made clear for the both of us.

"I have no desire to see other men, Dick. I'm not sure I _could_ see more than one man at a time. I'm just not made that way. You might consider me old-fashioned, but this is who I am. If you prefer to see other women while seeing me, then when we go back to Bludhaven we can say our goodbyes before anyone is hurt too badly."

Dick's eyes widened. He didn't know why, but no one else had ever laid it out on the line like that before. Faithfulness was always just a given when one started a new relationship. . . but funny, it often never stayed that way as the relationship progressed. As he thought about it, he was more than a little shocked to realize that he hadn't been completely faithful to any woman he had been with before Elle. Even Kori and Babs . . . But, hell, neither had they been completely faithful to him! Wow! He really _was_ an asshole . . .

But he found that just the idea of Elle being with someone else made his blood pressure rise simply thinking about it. The idea that they would leave tomorrow, say goodbye, and never seeing one another again was abhorrent to him! A little ball of panic fluttered to life in his stomach.

She was searching his face and apparently not liking what she saw there because her smile turned sad. It hurt him, seeing that expression on her. It didn't belong there. He unconsciously lifted a hand to his chest; rubbing the spot over his heart.

"You want complete and utter faithfulness?" He wasn't sure why he phrased it like that, in a question. She hadn't been unclear when stating her expectations to him.

"Yes," she stated unequivocally. "Yes, I do. And you would receive the same from me. Total faithfulness, complete honesty, and absolute loyalty . . . I do not believe that is too much to ask for when I am more than willing to give you the same in return."

Dick blinked. What she asked for was impossible! Oh, not the faithfulness and loyalty part; the way he felt about her after a mere four weeks had him confident that he could give her that, despite his lousy track record. It was the complete honesty that had him hesitating. So far, his '_other_' job hadn't been an issue. They didn't exactly live in each others' pockets. Although the more time he spent with Elle, the more he wanted to be with her. She wasn't clingy; however, so Dick felt reasonably sure it would be a long time before Nightwing would become an issue between them. But he knew that even before his night work became an issue that he would be forced to lie to her, even if only by omission.

She sighed, turning away from him; pretending to browse through the rainbow utopia of pool-wear. "I probably picked out the worst time to bring this up. It's okay, though. I mean, I'd rather know now before I grow . . . too . . . too f-fond of you."

Wait, what? Was she telling him . . . _goodbye_? _No_!

The panic grenade in his stomach just exploded. Dick stepped after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her against him. He didn't think about it, just acted. His mouth crushed hers. It wasn't a sweet kiss or even a passionate one. It was one of possession!

_Mine_! His heart called out. _Mine_! His body demanded. _Mine_! His mind commanded. She would not escape him! He would tell her whatever he had to in order to keep her with him. He would deal with the repercussions later.

Elle's arms slid around his neck. Her hands buried themselves in his black hair, drawing him down to her just as desperately as he felt. He had instigated the kiss, but she gave willingly everything that he demanded from her and took back all that was in him with equal fervency.

"It's already too late," he gasped against her mouth. "You are mine, Arabella Hamilton! You belong to me, and I will _never_ let you go!"

Inside, he winced at his overdramatic statement, positive that his declaration would terrify her, but he couldn't have stopped the words even had he wanted to. But instead of pulling away from him, Elle seemed to cling to him all the more. She looked into his eyes with tearful ones.

"I don't want you to, Richard Grayson," Elle whispered against his lips.

He kissed her again, cupping her face in his hands like a treasure. His heart pounded and his head swam. _Would it always be like this with this woman_, he wondered? He turned so that he could fall back against the wall, pulling her with him against his chest. Hangers and tiny articles of clothing scattered to make room or be crushed. Neither noticed; although, even if they had, they wouldn't have cared.

"I will give you whatever you want so long as you stay with me," he promised her fiercely. "Stay with me, Elle!"

"I will," she promised him. "For as long as you want me, I will stay with you."

His blue, blue eyes met the deep, dark brown of hers, and his lips curved into a smile. "Okay. Forever it is, then."

Eventually Dick's hands slid down over her shoulders and to her waist, gentling as her willingness and acceptance of him reassured him that she wouldn't run from him. There would be no goodbyes; not tomorrow nor any day after that. His mind, caught up in the feel of her against him, likely didn't realize the finality in the ramblings of his heart – not yet, anyway. But there was time now; time to accept the inevitability of what fate had decreed in that moment he had first laid eyes upon her; what it had just reaffirmed the second her arms had accepted him and his lips had claimed hers.

He was doomed.

This one woman had the power to reduce his heart to rubble. At the same time, he knew it as well as he knew his own name that she had saved him. From what, he wasn't certain yet. Something powerful, but yet ambiguous . . . He couldn't name it, but now that he was safe from its shadowy grasp, Dick could feel himself relaxing; the tension flowing out of his body like water, revealing beneath the murky surface that elusive prize that he had only just begun to glimpse since meeting Elle.

Peace.


	22. Confrontation

By the time Elle had found a bathing suit and changed, everyone was already downstairs. Dick was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs in a t-shirt, swimming trunks and a towel. Elle smirked at his choices.

"That's what you are wearing," she asked him, disbelief in her voice. "I thought you said something about wanting to race me."

Dick looked down at his trunks. They were red and loose and hung down to his knees. "What? This is the style, I'll have you know! I didn't think you expected a fashion show at the pool."

She grinned at him, stopping on the bottom tread so she could kiss him without having to stretch. "No, not a fashion show, but maybe some serious competition. You do realize that the drag from those trunks will only slow you down?"

"Mm," he murmured appreciatively against her lips. "Next time I'll wear my Speedos."

Elle snorted with laughter. "Yeah, do that," she giggled. "Wear your Speedos. At least I'll be entertained while I wait for you at the finish line."

Dick pulled playfully at the front of her robe. "So, what do you have under there? Fins?"

She slapped lightly at his hands. "Just the only suit available that I could wear that wouldn't give your little brother details about the female anatomy that he shouldn't get until his honeymoon. You know, Bruce should consider having a larger selection of one-pieces."

Dick was leading her toward the back of the house. There were two entrances to the indoor pool, but the closer one was through the gym. "I'll mention it to him. Eh," he looked back over his shoulder as the doorbell sounded. "I wonder who that could be? Not many people visit us unannounced on a Sunday afternoon."

Elle paused, but Dick tugged her arm.

"Alfred will get it. Whoever it is will want Bruce, not us," he assured her.

Dick opened the door to the gym for her. Elle entered and stared, clearly in awe.

"Wow! Do you guys really use all this stuff? It feels like an Olympic training facility." She stopped to look at the various gymnastic equipment. "Is this yours?"

Dick was grinning, draping an arm across the lower bar of the uneven parallel bars Bruce had given it to him at Christmas after he had first arrived at Wayne Manor. He had still been eight at the time, but Bruce hadn't wanted to wait another three months until his ninth birthday to give it to him. It was generally used by women gymnasts, but it helped him greatly on the trapeze when he was young, and even now it continued to help him improve his fighting style and line work.

"Yup," he said. "Although Bruce and my brothers will occasionally use them as well. They are mostly just mine."

Elle's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, touching the oiled leather of the pommel horse. "Will you show me some of your moves before we leave?"

Dick's smile faltered for a second, but Elle wasn't looking at him to notice. "Uh, sure," he told her. "But I'm kind of out of practice. I'm not as good as I used to be."

Elle looked back at him, knowingly. "You are better than I am, so that makes you pretty good. I always wanted to learn gymnastics."

"Why didn't you?"

She shrugged, trailing her hand across the balance beam next. "I don't know. I mean, I've done some tumbling and a few flips, but I'm not really a gymnast. Everything was always geared towards swimming. The little bit that I have done was only to improve my dives. But if you want to give me a few lessons, I might not fall out of the canoe the next time we go to the lake."

"Consider it done, my lady," Dick promised, laughing as he bowed low. "But now about the pool . . . Everyone is probably already in there."

Elle moved towards the wall of windows that separated the pool area from the gym. She could see three sets of diving boards at the far end through the great expanse of glass.

"It looks to be huge!"

"It is," Dick said. "The outdoor pool is Olympic size, but this one is a close second."

"How deep is it," she asked, getting excited. She loved diving and swimming along the bottom.

"Twenty feet. Bruce will sometimes use it or the outdoor pool to practice scuba diving."

"Do you dive?"

"We were all certified; here and in the ocean." He nodded.

"I was, too. I dive in the Lake as well," she said. Of course, she seldom dived deep enough that she needed scuba gear, although her father and brother often chose to use the gear when they would dive with her.

She credited her powerful lungs to both singing and diving. She still held the record for holding her breath the longest in her school. She never really pushed the envelope, however, and would surface before she actually needed to breathe.

Dick pulled the door to the pool open, and Elle stepped in. Everyone waved and called greetings to them, but Elle's attention was elsewhere as a wave of warm, chlorine-scented air washed over her.

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Her face grew noticeably paler. Dick grabbed her arm immediately, as he had been watching for her reaction to the pool as they entered. He just hadn't expected her to nearly faint.

"What's wrong? Here, sit down before you fall down," he said, leading her to a lounge chair.

"No! Not here," she wheezed. "Outside . . . the gym."

"What? Oh, okay, sure," Dick did a one-eighty, helping her back to the gym. He was alarmed by the sudden pallor, the sheen of sweat, and the trembling, but it was her breathing that frightened him most. She sounded like she was having a full-blown asthma attack.

Damian was climbing the ladder to the high dive, but Bruce and Tim had been watching, and were now rushing out of the pool to see what the matter was. Grabbing their towels, they followed the couple back out into the gym.

Elle's legs were wobbly, but she was determined to get as far from the pool as possible before collapsing. She could barely speak as it was.

"Elle, you need to sit down," Dick was telling her. He looked a little pale himself.

"There," she pointed to the mats against the wall. It wasn't far enough, but it was as far as she could manage. "Over . . . there," she panted.

They hadn't taken many steps when the doors to the gym were pushed open and three men barreled in. As soon as they spotted Elle, they bee-lined to her. Bruce scowled at the invasion and moved to intercept them, Tim right behind him.

"Who the hell are you," he growled. "What the hell are you doing in my home? Where's Alfred?"

One of the men stopped in front of him, but the other two merely circled around him. Tim jumped in front of one of the men, blocking his path.

"We're not here for trouble," the first man told Bruce.

"That's interesting, because you've managed to find it anyway!"

"We're here for Arabella," he finished.

The third man shoved Dick away, grabbing Elle's arm roughly. "It's time for you to go home, miss," he exclaimed.

Dick spun around, moving into a fighting stance. "Take your hands off of her – _NOW_!"

She gaped to discover her father's bodyguard attempting to drag her bodily towards the door. "Lazlo? . . . What are . . . you doing here?" She looked around her. "Where is . . . Poppa? He must be . . . here somewhere!"

Her breathing was improving, and some color was slowly returning to her face, but she still felt weakened by just that simple exposure. That had never happened to her before. Hours of exposure to chlorine in the air could make her hoarse, and give her a bit of a cough, but never had it affected her breathing – and so quickly!

Dick grabbed Lazlo's wrist, squeezing a pressure point in order to get him to release Elle's arm. He whipped it behind Lazlo's back and shoved him away from them both.

"You don't touch her," he snarled at the man.

Lazlo spun around, and took a threatening step in Dick's direction. "I'm about to teach you some manners, boy!"

"Lazlo!" The man speaking to Bruce yelled at Cedric Hamilton's personal bodyguard. "You're not allowed to touch Miss Bella," he growled.

Her wits returning and her breath caught, Elle stared at the other two men. "Hugh? Edward? What are you doing here? Where is Poppa?"

"I'm right here," Cedric Hamilton, cane in hand, came through the door to the gym with Alfred. His second bodyguard, Hendricks, trailed behind him. "And you, young lady, are going home to Chicago! No arguments!"

"No, Poppa, I'm not," Elle straightened. She could not show weakness to this man. Beloved daughter or not, weakness in front of him was much like blood in the water was for a shark.

"You will, whether you like it or not. Do you realize what it was like for me to see you on the evening news last night? A police shootout? Diving off of bridges after cars?" He paused a moment to take in the scene around him. Instead of calming down, his face reddened with anger. "And now what is this? You planned to swim," he sniffed the air. "In a chlorinated pool, no less?"

Dick glanced at Elle, confused and angry with this unwanted intrusion. Her face paled once more at her father's words. "Elle, you still need to sit down."

"This only proves that you are not ready to go out on your own if this is an example of the kind of decisions you make for yourself."

"Cedric Hamilton, I presume," Bruce moved to intercept the elder man, his hand extended.

Cedric looked Bruce up and down. "Wayne." He nodded, brusquely. "Keep your paws off of my daughter."

"Poppa," Elle gasped, as Bruce goggled. "Mr. Wayne is my host!"

"That's not what he looks like from here," Cedric harrumphed. "The man's standing in front of my daughter in his skivvies!"

Elle had had enough. Recovered sufficiently, she stormed forward. She always granted the man respect, never arguing with him in public, but she knew they were not going to have that kind of luxury here; not if she planned to stay. And the one thing that she knew absolutely would _not_ happen this day was returning to Chicago.

Grabbing Dick's hand, she pulled him after her. Stopping in front of her father, she presented him. "Poppa, _this_ is the man I am seeing: Richard Grayson. He's the adopted son of Mr. Wayne; his _eldest_ son." She tossed that bit of info in because her ridiculously old-fashioned father would consider it important. "Dick, this is my father: Cedric Hamilton."

Cedric's eyes narrowed as he took Dick apart and put him back together again in a few seconds. "The cop?" He looked back at his daughter. "You are dating that cop on television; the one who was wearing that ludicrous bat suit."

Elle stepped in front of Dick, to better confront her father's rudeness. "Yes," she hissed, as angry at the man than she had ever been before. "I am dating that _hero_ who saved a woman's life despite his own injuries. I am dating a man who has consistently put my feelings and needs in front of his own since we met. I am dating a man of strength, courage, and integrity; someone who puts himself on the line for the good of others. And you _will_ treat him and his family with respect or the conversation is **_over_**. Do you understand me?"

* * *

There was a moment of stunned silence following that statement. Cedric stared at his daughter with an unreadable expression. If he were waiting for her to flinch or back down, he knew he would be waiting until the apocalypse. This was why he wanted her in the business. Damn, but she would be something to see glaring down her competition over a negotiation table!

He understood her perfectly also. Likely Wayne didn't, at least not yet. He wasn't certain about Grayson, however, but they probably didn't understand what she had meant by "_over_". He did. If he didn't do as she demanded, there would be no more conversations – ever. All conversations would be over as far as she was concerned, and he would lose her. His little girl never did anything by halves. She chose her fights with care, but when she did step into the ring, you could bet your bottom dollar that she would come out on top.

Cedric sighed, conceding defeat. The conversation was not over, however. But he wasn't a fool, either. He knew when to strategically retreat.

He pursed his lips, considering the couple in front of him. Grayson was eyeing him like a lion did a piece of steak. Cedric could tell he didn't often allow someone to fight his battles for him, but apparently his little Bella found a man who did indeed respect her enough to represent him. They appeared united in this. The edges of his lips quirked up at that idea.

He liked that, he decided; the two of them against the world. He stuck his hand out to the young man hovering protectively at Arabella's shoulder. "Grayson, it's a pleasure." Dick shook his hand cautiously. He didn't return Cedric's smile.

He turned around to face Wayne. "Forgive my intrusion, Wayne. I was wrong in my assumptions."

Bruce shook Cedric's hand, but his expression remained reserved as well. Fine, Cedric could respect that. He had just barged into the man's home without even a phone call, and then proceeded to insult both the man and his family.

"Now, then," he said, turning back to his daughter. "Since this conversation is far from over, can we complete it in some semblance of privacy?"

"You can use my study," Bruce offered, rather graciously, Cedric thought.

"No, we will have it here," Elle stated. "We can step over here," she indicated a spot near the windows overlooking the pool.

"Ever the defiant lass, aren't you," he asked, even as he used his cane to limp in the direction she indicated.

"You love that about me," she said. "Admit it."

He smiled. Yes, he did.


	23. A Little History

"Now I suppose you are going to try to convince me to trust your judgment," Cedric said the moment they had moved out of hearing.

"Since when have you been using a cane," Elle asked, changing the subject.

He shrugged. "A couple of weeks. The doctor recommended it."

Elle frowned. "Are you still having problems with dizziness and weakness?"

Cedric murmured a non-response. "I am here to discuss you, young lady."

Elle blew at her breathe and wandered close to one of the windows overlooking the pool. She knew it would drive her father nuts. "There is nothing to discuss. I'm afraid you made this trip unnecessarily. You really should have called first."

"Would you have answered?"

Elle thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "When I got home tomorrow for sure, but here? I didn't realize that you would see that interview. Had I known, I would have called you first."

"And when were you planning on telling me that you were dating the son of Bruce Wayne?"

Elle looked at her father and scoffed. "Don't pretend you didn't know about him within minutes of my meeting him. You've had Edward and Hugh following me around for months."

"Mm," Cedric's response what non-committal.

"And pretending you thought I was dating Mr. Wayne was really just too bad of you."

Cedric snorted with repressed laughter. "His face was truly a sight, was it not?"

"I'm surprised he was willing to shake your hand later," Elle scolded. "This habit of yours of putting everyone in the room off-balance is annoying outside of the boardroom, Poppa."

She turned to watch Damian do a back flip off of the middle diving board. The boy was having so much fun he hadn't even noticed or cared about the drama happening out here. She couldn't help feeling a momentary pang of jealousy as he bobbed back to the surface and swam toward the ladder.

"You could have that again if you would just come home, Bella," her father said, quietly. "You could swim every day without worry."

"That's not fair, Poppa," she sighed. "To give up everything just to be able to swim? That is exactly why I have spent so many years yearning to get out on my own. My life isn't up for negotiation!"

"Of course it is," Cedric disagreed. "Everything you do in life is a negotiation!"

"It shouldn't be," she replied, hotly. "Not with family!"

"But you do miss it, don't you . . . Swimming?"

"You know I do," she glared at him. "It was why I am down here in a bathing suit, after all."

Cedric tsked at her. "You would risk your life for this, but refuse to come home where you had unlimited access?"

Angry, Elle turned back to the window. Damian attempted a double somersault from the middle board. _His form is off_, she thought. _He needs to get more height, tuck tighter for more speed_. His entry was too large because he hadn't quite made it out of his last turn before he met the water.

"I wasn't risking anything. I took an antihistamine earlier and I have my epi-pen of adrenaline in my pocket," she patted the robe where the pen was tucked. "Which I will remind you, I have never needed before. I thought this through, Poppa. It has been seven years since I last had a reaction, and that one only happened after continuous repeated exposures during the championship meet. I figured that I could manage an hour without a problem, and maybe, at most, have a little bit of itchiness later on."

Cedric shook his head. "The doctors told you that each reaction would be worse than the last; that there wasn't the possibility of building up a tolerance. The amount of time between exposures doesn't matter."

"I know all that," she argued. "But doctors are not infallible!"

"And yet look at you," he pointed at her. "You are still dry, and yet you are pale and breathless. You aren't even in the same room, and you can't even breathe!"

"That's not true," she told him. "I went into the pool area before I had any problem. As soon as I recognized that I might be having a bit of trouble, I immediately left the area."

Cedric narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "So, I am right. You didn't even have to touch the chlorine before it began affecting you, did you? The chlorine in the air alone did this to you!"

Elle watched as Damian started pulling himself up the tallest dive's ladder. "I'll admit it was scary fast this time. I was just about to tell Dick about the allergy when Edward, Hugh, and Lazlo barged in."

Cedric scowled. "You didn't bother to tell him about your allergy to chlorine beforehand? What if you had dived in and became unconscious? He wouldn't have known what to do for you! Did you even tell him about the epi-pen in your pocket?"

"My reaction wasn't all that bad the last time," she defended. "How was I to know it would be this bad? It's been seven years . . ."

"Yes, so you keep saying," Cedric grumbled. "Bella, you are all that's left of my Esmeralda. I could not bear to lose you, too."

Elle's eyes followed Damian as he made his way to the end of the board. Maybe the extra height would give him time to complete both somersaults . . . She wanted to be out there with him. She could tell him what he was doing wrong, and teach him numerous other tricks. Maybe how to add a twist to his somersaults . . .

"You aren't going to lose me, Poppa," she told him. "But another stunt like this, and you might just succeed in driving me away permanently. You're actions are unacceptable to me!"

* * *

Bruce was furious with the intrusion, but then, Dick was, too. Alfred was upset because he had allowed the men entry, only to have three of them run off on him without an escort.

Dick glanced over his shoulder at Elle and her father having a semi-heated discussion. He couldn't hear anything, however, which drove him a little crazy. Surely the man wouldn't convince her to return to Chicago . . .

His worry about that scenario was tempered by the warmth that Elle's vigorous defense of him had created. She didn't even know about his other life as Nightwing, and yet she called him a '_hero_'! She saw qualities in his character that weren't as obvious to one who was not also familiar with his alter-ego. Dick had had the feeling that standing up to her father was a problem, and yet she had demanded that the man treat not only Dick, but the rest of his family with respect. He had been almost as surprised that Cedric Hamilton had given in to her without argument as he had been with her description of his character.

Well, she had just an hour ago told him she would fight for him, hadn't she? Who knew she would get that opportunity so soon?

But what had really gotten to him the most was the sincerity he and everyone present had heard in her voice. She had meant every word . . . His heart seemed to beat a little harder, a little faster, because of it.

He turned his attention onto the three bodyguards. Two he had seen before. Elle had pointed them out to him the first night they had gone out for coffee. He managed to ignore them for the most part, and didn't begrudge her the extra protection. He remembered the man who had attacked her previously, and the actions of those three men in the club. What might have happened had he and Bruce not been there?

"You are Hamilton's guard, Lazlo," Hugh was snarling. "You do not have the right to lay hands on Miss Arabella! You protect Hamilton and leave his daughter to Edward and me."

Lazlo scoffed. "If you two were doing your jobs correctly, then Miss Arabella would still be home in Chicago instead of worrying her father."

"Gentlemen, enough!" Bruce glared at the four men. "Neither needs your protection while in my house. I think it would be better for all concerned if you would remove yourselves to your vehicle post haste."

"I disagree, Mr. Wayne," Edward replied. "Just the fact that Miss Arabella was planning to go swimming here is concern enough. And you," he pointed a finger at Dick. "You were just going to let her?"

Taken aback by the accusation, Dick argued. "She likes to swim. It was the only reason we offered! You keep talking like swimming is a bad thing for her, but I've seen her swim in a lake and in the Gotham River already."

Hugh waved his argument away. "That's different."

Tim frowned, speaking up for the first time. "How so?"

The two men glanced at each other and frowned at the boy.

"Wait," Hugh held up a hand. "You don't know, do you?"

Dick shook his head, confused. "Know what?"

Edward looked at Hugh. "She didn't tell him."

"Tell me what?" Dick's voice was rising with his frustration.

Hugh blew out a frustrated breath of his own. "Arabella is allergic to chlorine," he stated. "Severely allergic . . ."

Dick blinked. "What?"

Bruce moved closer. "Why would she not tell us this?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she wanted to impress you? Maybe she was embarrassed? Maybe she just wanted to swim, you know? It has been many years since the last incident. Maybe she thought it wouldn't be a problem if she didn't stay in water long."

Hugh explained a little bit more. "The first and last time it became an issue was during the championship swim meet at the end of the competitive season when she was sixteen. Her father had paid to replace the school's pool with a specialized salt water pool. When he learned that she had wanted to join the swim team, he had volunteered to replace the pools at all the schools that she would be competing at."

Edward took over the explanation. "Mrs. Hamilton, Arabella's mother, also had an allergy to chlorine. It had been hoped that Arabella hadn't inherited the allergy, but it was never really tested because all of the changes Mr. Hamilton had made to accommodate his wife benefited their daughter as well. The pool renovations were done just in case. No one, however, expected Arabella to do quite so well."

"I don't know why since the girl and her mother both swam like fish. Perhaps because there had never been any competition to compare them to . . . No one realized how good they actually were," Hugh said.

Edward continued the story. "She basically blew all the competition out of the water." Hugh groaned at the pun, but Edward went on, ignoring him. "It was at the championship meet that the problem emerged. It was held at a different location. At first, Arabella did great with no noticeable problems, but with each consecutive event, she grew paler, weaker, slower. Amazingly enough, however, she still won, but upon exiting the pool that final time, her lips had turned blue and her skin blotchy. She began hyperventilating, and finally collapsed. She spent a week in the hospital."

Hugh nodded. "She was better in just a few hours, but no one knew what had caused the problem, so she remained while the doctors ran test after test."

"Turns out that, like her mother, Arabella is allergic to chlorine. Not just allergic, however . . . Chlorine is like a poison to her. It affects everything! And worse, the doctors told her that she cannot build an immunity to it. Each exposure has the potential to be worse than the last, with devastating results if not prepared. She carries an epi-pen of adrenaline with her everywhere." Edward looked at Dick. "She didn't show you the pen?"

Dick shook his head.

"But there is chlorine in the drinking water," Tim said.

Dick slapped his head. "She only drinks bottled water."

Hendricks spoke up. "Made by Hamilton Industries. Also, I was with Mr. Hamilton when he ordered the work done on her apartment. There are specialized filters that reduce the chlorine in all the water there to almost non-existent levels, just in case. No one really knows exactly how much chlorine it takes to cause a reaction."

Dick looked devastated himself. He had no idea . . . Remembering her reaction to just the chlorine in the air, the idea of what might have happened had she actually dove into the pool was frightening.

A terrified cry went up behind him. All of the men spun around, looking for the threat.

"Stop her," Cedric Hamilton yelled.

* * *

**More questions . . . Soon. The answers will come soon! More excitement coming up! **


	24. Bad Reaction

**Chlorine in its concentrated form is poisonous to humans, but in regulated increments, diluted, it is rather harmless. Allergic or poisonous reactions to this chemical do not produce the symptoms I describe here. Also, an EpiPen _ISN'T_ used for chlorine poisoning, but this is fiction and I can do what I want. The only factual thing I have included about the EpiPen is the way it is administered (in the thigh and held for several seconds). **_**Using this pen in any manner other than the way it is intended could result in severe consequences and DEATH.**_** This is FICTION, my friends. I created this reaction and treatment because nothing else would have suited the plot.  
**

* * *

Elle was listening to her father talk as she continued to watch Damian perfect his diving technique. He really shouldn't be diving while alone, but Elle could hardly complain since she had been known to sneak down to the pool for midnight swims while living at home. She didn't say anything since she and her father were right there watching . . . Well, she was watching, at least. Her father was still ranting at her – civilly, for once.

Damian moved to the end of the highest diving board, and positioned himself. Elle ignored her father's words as she concentrated on his form. She frowned. Damian's feet weren't extended far enough out for a back flip. If he didn't project himself away from the board with extra force . . . Elle's eyes widened, and she slapped her palm against the glass.

"Damian, NO," She screamed.

But even as she screamed, the boy jumped and managed a partial flip before smacking his forehead on the edge of the board. It was obvious even before he hit the water that he was unconscious.

Jerking her robe off, Elle sprinted toward the door to the pool. She wasn't so focused on Damian that she wasn't fully aware of what she was about to do. She wasn't a fool, but the boy was important to Dick! He was important to _her_! They had bonded in the music room . . . At least, Elle had. She couldn't just stand by; not while she was the boy's best chance!

The pool was incredibly deep, built as it was for scuba diving. Unconscious, Damian's body would quickly sink to uncomfortable levels. Elle knew she was better than most at handling the pressure and could hold her breath longer than the average person. And she was fast in the water; very fast!

Remembering her reaction to the chlorinated air, Elle took three deep consecutive breaths; holding the last one as she burst into the pool room. In five steps she was launching herself forward into a shallow dive.

It was like immersing herself in liquid fire, and almost caused her to release her precious air in a gasp of pain. Her vision wavered, but she could still see shapes. She pushed herself faster. It wouldn't save Damian if she lost consciousness before she rescued him. Worse, she would distract attention away from him if she ended up needing rescued alongside him!

Damian was nothing but a shadow that was sinking fast. When she reached him, Elle pinched his nose and blew what was left of the air in her lungs into his mouth, hoping it would give him an extra minute. She was already growing weak. Could she get him to the surface without a push? Eyeing the bottom, she judged it to only be a few feet away.

She sank down until her feet touched the bottom, and bent her knees. Then, in one massive effort, Elle shoved off, propelling herself upward with incredible force. As she jetted past Damian she thrust one arm under his and pulled him with her; kicking hard to keep her momentum from slowing.

The pain was growing steadily worse. Her lungs were burning now. Her vision was darkening, tunneling, but she could still make out shadows rushing to meet her near the side of the pool. As she broke the surface, she shoved Damian up and into the waiting arms of his family. As soon as she felt his weight disappear, Elle fell back into the pool of what felt like burning acid. Her body jolted as she began to seize, her lungs and stomach filling as she gasped; breathing in and swallowing the contaminated water.

She was dying.

It was her last thought when the darkness finally consumed her.

* * *

Dick spun around at Elle's scream. He caught the barest glimpse of something falling past the window.

Damian!

Even before any of them could react, Elle was stripping off her robe and rushing into the pool room.

_No_, his mind screamed.

He knew she was going to try to save his brother, but his mind was full with all he just learned about her. The raw fear in her father's face told him that she wouldn't come out of this as she had from the swim in the river. He raced after her. If he could stop her from diving into the pool, he could go in after Damian himself, and let her bodyguards pull her out of the poisonous air.

Dick was the first to burst through the door. He looked, but Elle was already nearly to his brother. _Damn_, he thought, _she _was_ fast_!

He saw her pause beside his brother's unconscious body, then sink the last few feet to the bottom. She didn't give him long to wonder what she was doing before she thrust herself up at a speed he knew the average human couldn't achieve while moving through the density of water. She caught his brother and continued upward, her speed not slowing visibly.

Dick reached the side of the pool at the same time Bruce did. They stuck their arms out simultaneously just as Elle surfaced, practically throwing the boy to them. He and Bruce caught Damian's limp body, and pulled him to safety, but not before Dick caught the briefest glimpse of Elle. Her skin was a mass of blotchy red welts. Her teeth had been clenched tight against what must be terrible pain; her lips were already tinged blue.

As soon as Dick was assured that Bruce had Damian secure in his arms, he turned and dove in after Elle. It had only taken that one glimpse to know she was in serious trouble. He saw her sinking below him, unable to swim to him now. Even in the water, he could tell her skin was beginning to blister. He saw another figure dive in to the water from his periphery. One of her bodyguards, he thought. _Hugh_ . . .

Dick reached her first.

She began to seize even as he reached for her. He had a hard time keeping his arm around her. He kicked hard, struggling to pull her convulsing body through the poisonous water. Then suddenly Hugh was there. He grabbed her under one arm and Dick switched his hold to match; the two men swimming hard to reach the surface. Edward and Lazlo leaned down, and took her from them as soon as they broke the surface; dragging her away from the pool's edge.

Dick pushed himself out of the water, glancing in Bruce's direction. Damian was leaning on his side, coughing up water and dripping blood from a cut across the center of his forehead. He was going to be all right. Bruce waved at Dick, leaving him free to go to Elle's side without worry over his brother. Bruce, Tim, and Alfred had Damian.

He crawled to Elle side as soon as he cleared the side of the pool, and gasped at her condition. Her entire body was bright red and covered with raised blisters. Blue veins were visible lacing across her skin. Her lips, fingertips, and toes were already blue. Her body was spasming beneath the multiple hands that held her down.

"Oh my God," he cried out. "Elle!"

What should he do? He kneeled next to her feeling overwhelmed and helpless. He didn't know how to help her! Was she even breathing?

Someone held the EpiPen out to him from over his shoulder. He stared at the fat syringe. When he hesitated, Edward grabbed it and punched it into Elle's thigh; holding it there for several seconds. Shortly after that, Elle coughed, and rolled onto her elbows and knees. Her whole body convulsed as she retched large amounts of pool water; ejecting it violently from her body.

"Do you have a shower close?"

Dick pointed in the direction of the locker room doors as Bruce answered for him with an affirmative.

"Hurry," her father commanded. "We have to get her stripped and the pool water off of her!"

He turned to Alfred. "You have bottled water here?"

Alfred's usual reserve appeared shaken by what they had all witnessed, but he answered quickly, used to Bat family medical emergencies. "Yes, I purchased a case when Miss Arabella requested your company's brand."

"Get it," he barked. "We have to flush as much of it out of her system as possible!"

Edward picked up Elle's now-limp body, and he and Hugh rushed her to the locker room, and the life-saving shower. Dick stumbled to his feet. Cedric grabbed a hold of his arm, but turned toward Bruce; his eyes on the recovering child.

"Is the boy all right?" His voice was gentle for once.

Bruce was looking a little wide-eyed himself, but nodded to the older man. "Yes. I think he'll be fine. Your daughter got to him quickly. Thank you."

Cedric grimaced, but nodded his head in acknowledgement. He turned away, pulling Dick with him.

"I hope Elle will be all right," Bruce called after him. "I've never seen a reaction like that before."

Cedric paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Unfortunately, I have, although it wasn't as bad as this one." He turned back in the direction of the locker room.

"If you are serious about my daughter at all, then you need to be there to see this," the older man told Dick, as he used him for support. His cane had disappeared somewhere. Probably it was back in the gymnasium. "I hope you aren't squeamish."

Dick swallowed. He had never been squeamish before, but then he had never watched a woman he had only just accepted that he loved nearly die in such a nightmarish fashion. He felt dazed and horrified. He followed her father because he couldn't _not_ follow the man. But he walked a little faster; suddenly desperate to see Elle; to hold her, to help her in some way.

"My God, if she knew that could happen, what was she thinking," Dick asked, helping the man across the wet concrete.

Cedric looked up at the young man his daughter so obviously cared for. "Well, she didn't think _this_ would happen," he admitted. "Otherwise, I doubt she would have ever agreed to swim in the first place. But I'm fairly certain after breathing just the chlorinated air in here that she had an inkling of what the water would do to her. The first time wasn't fun, but it also wasn't nearly this severe."

"She should have let me go after Damian," Dick muttered.

"Hm, perhaps, but perhaps not," Elle's father said cryptically. "I doubt the boy would be recovering quite so quickly without my Bella's aid. She had pulled him out of the water just as you and your father arrived. Had he been under longer, his recovery might have been a bit more harrowing."

They pushed the locker room door open. "I love my brother, Mr. Hamilton, but I can't say that I would willingly trade Elle's life for his."

Cedric cocked an eyebrow. "You would prefer to save her life over his?"

"_No_! That isn't what I meant," Dick growled. He could hear the water running from the shower room. "I just hate that either of them were hurt."

* * *

Cedric didn't speak, but the first smile since seeing that news broadcast the previous evening crossed his face. He couldn't imagine even one of those namby-pamby elitists that he had been forcing on his daughter as escorts for the past six years would have been willing to walk in here with him after witnessing the scene by the pool. One look at those blisters would have sent every single one of them scurrying out of the room and out of his daughter's life without a second glance.

Well, he thought. Let's see what this fellow is made of . . .


	25. Rinse and Repeat

The shower was on as Dick and Elle's father, Cedric, entered the women's locker room. They moved quickly to the shower room. Dick was startled to see her bodyguards under the water with her.

"Oh my God," he whispered.

She looked awful! Her skin was still red and raw, covered in blisters and welts. The blue veins were fading at least, and though her lips were still colorless, they and her fingertips were no longer blue. She was wheezing, and looked like she kept phasing in and out of consciousness.

"What do I do?" He turned panicked eyes toward her father. He was praying the man had a clue what to do for her.

Cedric barked to her guards. "Is she conscious enough to help?"

Edward nodded.

"She's in and out, but she's trying to help. Not dead weight," Hugh confirmed.

"Good," he said. "Mr. Grayson, take over for Hugh. Hugh, I need towels and a dry robe. Edward, you will be getting the bottled water from the butler. He should be here any minute."

The men left Dick sitting on the floor of the shower with Elle leaning back against his chest. The water poured over her head, and down her body. He looked up at Cedric a little helplessly.

"What do I do now?" He asked.

Hugh was handing Cedric a half a dozen towels. The man turned and threw a couple to Dick. He caught them in one hand, but they became as soaked as he was in seconds.

"You've been dating my daughter for a while now," Cedric began. He raised a questioning brow at the younger man.

"About a month," he agreed.

"Hm," Cedric tightened his lips, and glanced at the guards. Edward had just walked in with a case of Hamilton Springs Water. "You two go out and dry off. Wait in the hall until I call you," he addressed the two men.

Once they walked off, Cedric looked back at the man cradling his baby girl, and heaved a sigh. "Now then, Mr. Grayson, when I turn my back, you need to strip her of her bathing suit, and cover her with the towels I gave you."

Dick's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. "What? Y-you want me to do what?"

Cedric frowned. He hadn't expected the man to be prudish. "You aren't sleeping with her?"

Dick goggled at the man. His face must have turned a brilliant red because he felt as though his face would burst in to flames any minute. "Sir . . ." He stopped, simply because he didn't know what to say.

Cedric grunted, shaking his head. "Well, this makes things a bit awkward," he muttered.

"_You think_?!" Dick gaped.

"Well, there's no helping it. I can't do it, and I'd prefer her bodyguards didn't do it. This is an all-male household, apparently, so it looks as though you are it, Mr. Grayson. She can't wait." Cedric shook his head. "I never expected to be in this predicament," he sighed. "You have to do as I say, Mr. Grayson. We can't take the chance that that bathing suit is holding any chlorinated water against her skin. She needs it off, now! After that, I will toss you several bottles that you will need to get her to drink."

With that, Cedric walked away from the shower entrance. Dick looked down into Elle's face. She appeared to be out of it at the moment. He really didn't want to do this without her permission, however. He patted her face gently, wincing at the feel of her blistered skin beneath his hands. He prayed he wasn't hurting her, but her skin looked incredibly painful.

"Elle, wake up," he crooned to her. "I need you to wake up, Elle."

She moaned miserably. Her voice sounded as raw as her skin looked. He remembered then the sight of her body shuddering violently as she retched up pool water. The idea that she was like this _inside_ and out made him cringe in sympathy.

"Elle, please," he begged.

Her eyes flutter open and he nearly groaned for her. The whites of her eyes looked solid red. God, could she even see? Could the chlorine have blinded her?

"Dick," she gasped; her voice, barely even a croak.

It made him want to weep! Her beautiful voice!

"Elle, I have to get your bathing suit off of you. I'm sorry, but your father insisted, and apparently I'm the only one who can do it."

Her face scrunched in misery, her eyes clenching tight. "I don't want you to see me like this," she whined, painfully.

"I can close my eyes," he offered.

She choked back a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dick. I should have told you."

Closing his eyes, he began to peel off the straps of the pretty, emerald one-piece. "You should have," he agreed. "So, why didn't you?"

"I didn't think it would be like this. It took multiple exposures to get a reaction the first time, and it wasn't anything like this. The air didn't bother me at all back then."

He help her push the suit down, taking care he kept his hands in neutral places. "You still should have told me. We didn't have to swim."

"But I wanted to," she whined pitifully. "It's been months. I thought an hour wouldn't hurt. It would have only been for an hour." She broke off with a deep, hacking cough that shook her entire body.

It took some doing, but between them, they managed to slide the suit off of her a minute later. Dick reached blindly beside him for a towel. He spread it carefully over her shoulders and breasts. The second towel covered her from her waist to her knees. He opened his eyes.

"I wonder how long it will take before the ambulance arrives," he murmured.

"I doubt they will be coming," she told him.

"Wait, _what_?" He looked at her in shock.

Elle shrugged. "There is nothing they can do anyway. I'll just sleep it off.

Dick was frowning in earnest now. "That's crazy! You can barely breathe! And your skin . . ."

Actually, her skin was looking better. Everywhere the water hit, her skin's coloring seemed to be fading. It was no longer an angry red; just more of an irritated pink. The veins had practically disappeared, and her lips were regaining some color. She still coughed up water, though, and Dick was afraid she might end up with pneumonia.

"Is Damian okay?" She asked once she had caught her breath again.

He smiled. "Yeah, he's fine. The kid's resilient as hell, but his forehead will probably need stitches."

She smiled, too. "Good. That's good. There was a lot of blood in the water," she said. "I was worried."

"He was awake and sitting up when your dad and I came in here." Dick sighed. "Elle, you should have let me go after him. Why didn't you wait for me?"

"He sank too deep. It would have been harder for you; taken too long. I knew I could get him out before anyone else could even get into the water."

She was right about that. She had been practically tossing Damian at them just as he and Bruce arrived at the pool's edge. Damian would have been in the water at least another three minutes or more had his rescue depended upon them. It was like her father said, the outcome might have been much different had Damian had to wait for Dick or Bruce; much less happy.

He remembered seeing her in action, despite what the chlorine had done to her. She had been magnificent . . . _And_ really, really fast!

"You were amazing," he told her.

And amazingly enough, she laughed at him. "Told you I was good."

"You are more than good," he whispered in her ear.

Cedric's voice floated to them from around the corner. "Are you decent, Bella?"

Elle glanced down at herself. More decent than she had been in her bathing suit, she thought. The two towels Dick had spread over her covered all but her lower legs. She frowned down at them. They still looked far more irritated than the rest of her, but of course, stretched out like they were; they were getting far less rinsing than the rest of her.

"Yes, Poppa," she called out. Her voice was extremely hoarse. She sounded nothing like herself.

* * *

Cedric moved into the entrance; his eyes going straight to the couple on the tiled floor. His daughter was more awake and aware than she had been previously, but what surprised him was that she was smiling. She was reclined back against Grayson's chest, her head on his shoulder, and he was speaking into her ear as she grinned at him despite the pain he knew her to be in.

Grayson was taking turns holding her arms under the spray, and lifting up Bella's long hair so the water could run down her neck and shoulders. Despite the terrible blisters, she was looking, by far, better than she had only a few minutes ago.

"You will need to make certain her back is rinsed," he told the young man. "And start getting her to drink this," he added, tossing a bottle to him.

Cedric had retrieved his cane, but was by no means steady on his feet enough to attempt walking on the wet tiles. He sat on the bench provided, the case of water next to him. It gave him an excellent view to observe the couple's interaction. It would have been better to judge had he the opportunity to watch them from afar. This close, they might act differently because of his presence.

He stretched his legs out in front of him. They were aching. Of course, all of him was aching. The doctors had told him that would only get worse, despite the painkillers he was on. He could ask for stronger doses, but that would only make his mind too sluggish to do the things he still needed to do. He was running out of time.

* * *

Dick opened the water bottle and held it up to Elle's lips. He winced because even they were blistered and swollen. Honestly, he was surprised her throat wasn't swollen shut. His mind shied from the thought of what might have happened to her had it taken them longer to pull her from the pool. She hadn't been in the water long. Less time than Damian, and he had been recovering nicely when Dick had disappeared into the locker room with Cedric.

Elle drank the water greedily, and Dick had to pull it away when she choked. Her father tossed him another as soon as she had finished the first. The second one was finished in record time. He was opening the third bottle when Elle held up her hand. Her face was scrunched in either concentration or pain; he didn't know which and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

"Elle?" He asked gently. "What's wrong? What can I do to help?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes. Her breathing was becoming erratic.

He looked to her father. "What's wrong with her now? I thought your water was supposed to help her!"

Cedric looked regretful. "It is," he reassured him, but Dick didn't feel reassured.

Suddenly, Elle twisted in his arms; turning her head to the side, she vomited. All the water she had previously drank come up. Dick gasped, clutching her shoulders in support. The water was tinged a bright red! She was vomiting blood.

"Oh my God, Mr. Hamilton," he yelled. "It's bloody! She's vomiting up blood!"

"I know," Cedric said, irritatingly calm. "That is what must happen."

"What?" Dick gaped at him.

The man could have warned him. Dick's heart was racing with his fear for her. Dick held her hair back out of the way. He felt so damned helpless, and he hated not knowing what was happening.

"You need to tell me what the hell is happening; why and what more to expect! No more of this cryptic bullshit! How do I help her?"

"Did she tell you of the family legend?"

Grayson stared at the man. "What? What has that to do with anything?"

"Answer the question," he barked.

"Yes, she told me," he snapped back.

Elle collapsed against his arm, exhausted, and Grayson gently pulled her back against his chest. He paused only to murmur softly in her ear. She nodded weakly.

"Give her that other bottle," he commanded.

Dick eyed the water bottle suspiciously. "Will it make her throw up again?"

Cedric sighed. "More than likely."

"She's too weak! She can't take it," The younger man growled at him.

"She has to," Cedric told him. "Her insides were coated with that poison. If she doesn't rid her body of it, it will eat at the lining until she begins to hemorrhage."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "But she's already hemorrhaging! We need to get her to the hospital!"

"No, it is more likely that the doctors would make it worse," he said. "I've been through this before with her mother. I had hoped that Elle would be spared this, but it appears as though she's her mother's daughter, after all."

"Stop talking in riddles," Dick snarled. He was terrified he was losing her. He rocked her in his arms, as he waited for the man to finally open up and tell him what he needed to know.

* * *

Cedric looked at the man who held his daughter's heart. She loved him, he didn't doubt. He had seen it in her eyes. He thought that perhaps this Grayson might love her in return. It had been the same way with him and her mother; his lovely Esmeralda. If he was right, and he thought he was, then Grayson needed to know.

"Look at her hands," he told the younger man.

Grayson blinked at him. "What?"

"Do it," he said. "It will help you understand."

Dick looked at Elle. She had her eyes closed, and wasn't reacting to the conversation at all. He thought that maybe she had fallen asleep, or perhaps she had lost consciousness. His heart clenched in worry.

Gently, so as not to disturb her, he picked up her hand. He laid it across his much larger one.

"And . . .?" He asked. "What now?"

"Really look," Cedric Hamilton told him.

Dick looked, turning her hand palm up and spreading her fingers. He didn't see . . . He startled. Wait! Yes, he _did_ see!

Between her fingers, rising up to her second knuckle was a thin fold of skin. It hadn't been there before, he knew. They had held hands many times. He had played with her fingers on occasion much as he was doing now, and those folds hadn't been there! But now . . . He watched as the water beaded up on her palm.

Elle's hands were _webbed_!

* * *

**If you haven't figured it out by now, I think you might be getting the picture . . . Just wait! You ain't seen nothing yet!**


	26. Tete a Tete

A couple of hours later, Elle was tucked up in her assigned room. She was feeling both better and miserable. Her blisters were gone now. She remembered Dick's freak out as she shed a layer of skin during the shower. She didn't blame him for it, however. She had been rather freaked out herself. There was still red, irritated skin beneath it; splotchy-looking wherever there had been a blister or welt, but those were fading. Hopefully, by tomorrow she would look more . . . normal.

But she wasn't, was she? . . . Normal, that is.

What she had always thought was just a birth defect, the webbed fingers and toes that happened whenever she got in water, was something more. Her mother and father had both known about it, but never told her. They had wanted to wait until she was older, her father had told her. Well, she was twenty-three! How long was she supposed to wait?

_What a horrible day_. She sat in the huge bed with her knees bent, her forehead resting on her knees, feeling sorry for herself.

Truthfully, she couldn't believe that she was still at the manor. Her father had one of the guards bring in another couple of cases of bottled water in case she needed it, and left about an hour ago without her. Dick had helped to tuck her in, but he had looked dazed and a little troubled by all he learned about her today. Elle wondered if he would drop her off tomorrow and disappear from her life. She wouldn't blame him if he did. _She_ wanted to disappear as well!

Elle sniffled, feeling alone and confused. She didn't want to face Bruce or Alfred or Tim, but she wanted to know how Damian was. Dick had said he was recovering nicely, but she wanted to see him. And how would she ever get him to give her that drawing he did of her yesterday if no one let her see him because she was . . . whatever she was?

There was a knock on the door, making Elle's heart leap in her chest. She didn't know why she was suddenly so scared, but she found herself trembling. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror again. This was so not happening.

"Go away," she told them.

When the door opened anyway, and Dick entered, Elle squeaked and ducked under her covers; throwing them over her head.

"I said go away," she groused; her voice still rough was muffled by the blankets.

"Are you all right," Dick asked. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge next to her.

"Y-yes. Now, could you please leave?" She rolled onto her side away from him. All she really wanted was to be held, and told that none of it mattered, but Elle didn't believe that was possible. Too much had changed.

Dick sighed deeply enough that she could hear him even through the blankets between them. His hand settled on her shoulder. She thought she could feel his body heat despite the many layers separating them.

"Elle," he tried again. "Are you all right."

"I said yes . . ." she told him, but her voice quivered along with her lip. "Oh, okay . . . No," she sighed this time. "No, I'm not all right."

"Why don't you come out from under the covers so we can talk about it," he asked her.

"I don't want to," she muttered, not caring if she sounded petulant.

"You don't want to talk about it, or you don't want to come out from under the covers?"

"_Both_!"

"Why not?"

She could hear the exasperation in his voice, but she couldn't do it.

"Because I'm uuuglyyy!" The tears began in earnest now.

Dick tried to pull the covers from her head. Elle clutched them like they were all that stood between her and the afterlife. Dick tugged harder, and Elle squealed. He started laughing, and she gasped in outrage.

Annoyed, she threw the covers back and sat up; glaring. "Why are you laughing at me? _Look_ at me!"

* * *

Dick looked at her, and thought her pout was adorable even as her tears broke his heart. She was _alive_ and no longer throwing up the lining of her stomach. He thought she was beautiful.

"Actually, you are looking pretty good compared to before," he admitted.

Her eyes grew larger as she thought about that; horror sliding over her features. She slapped her hands over her face.

"Hey!" Dick reached over to grab her wrists.

"Oh, Dick," she shuddered. "How can you stand me? I'm a freak! An ugly freak!"

He frowned at her words. "How can you say that?"

"It's that damned family legend," she groaned. "I thought it was just a story. All this time, and now I discover it is true!"

"How could you not believe it when every time you get wet you get webbed fingers and toes," he asked.

She hiccuped, and looked up at him miserably. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. It was a birth defect. My mother and grandmother had it, too. Nobody said anything about it. It was treated as normal by the family, and honestly, if we weren't swimming, it was a non-issue."

"I have never seen anyone swim like that outside of Aquaman," Dick said.

Elle blinked at him, her attention suddenly riveted. "You've seen Aquaman swim? Have you met him? What's he like?"

Dick froze. His mouth worked for a moment, but no words came out. "Uh . . . I . . . um, just saw him the one time. I didn't meet him or anything." He was so going to hell over this.

"Oh, well, that's still really cool," she said. "I can't believe I got to meet Batman this weekend . . . And Robin! Oh, and that other Robin-dude, guy, whatever his name is. That was amazing!" She caught him staring at her. "What?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't think you would be all that into vigilantes and superheroes," he smiled, chuckling at her enthusiasm. "It's kind of cute." Inside, Nightwing was yelling at him to change the subject. This was too dangerous, but he was fascinated and a little curious.

She smiled for the first time. "It just seems to me that if you have a special talent that can help people, you're almost obligated to use it. They aren't bad people, after all. They don't take away from others. They just help people, and at some risk to themselves. I think that's admirable, don't you?"

Dick stared at her. "Ah, yeah," he said. "I guess it is. I never really thought about it before."

She leaned over and smirked. "You know, I saw Nightwing once, too."

Dick's mouth dropped open. "Y-you did?"

"It was only a glimpse," she grinned. "I was stopping at an all-night convenience store for some milk . . . You know, milk is so expensive in those places. Anyway, there was a robbery in progress . . ."

Dick paled. 'You walked in on a robbery in progress?"

"Oh, well, they were kind of busy and didn't notice me right away, so I ducked back out of the store and called 911. Then, the two guys came running out. The clerk had picked up a shotgun and shot at them through the door! Glass went everywhere! And then the robbers started shooting back! It was all very exciting," At his look of horror, she decided to try to tone down her animation. "And . . . um, sort of scary? But then Nightwing swung in! He knocked one of the guys down, and then threw one of those boomerang thingies . . ."

"Birdarangs," he muttered offhandedly.

"Birdarangs? Really? How funny," she grinned. "Okay, well, he threw one of those thingies, the birdarang, and it knocked the gun out of the other guy's hand. I saw him do this spinning kick into the guy's head. And then the other man jumped to his feet and tried to shoot him!"

Dick had never heard one of his fights described by a witness before. Elle made it sound rather exciting. "Then what happened?"

An odd look crossed her face. "I'm not really sure."

Dick frowned. "What do you mean, you're not really sure? You were there, right?"

"Oh," She shrugged. "Yes, I was. It's just that one of the guy's bullets hit the wall where I was standing. A shard of brick kind of hit me in the eye."

Dick was stricken by the thought Elle had almost gotten shot before he ever met her. That _he_ had almost allowed her to be shot! He thought he remembered the incident she had been describing; he hadn't even realized that a woman had been present outside of the store. If she had been shot, would he have even known? He might have left her there accidentally to bleed out. He felt sick.

"What," he asked, weakly.

"I was all right," she reassured him, patting him on the knee. "But it hurt so I jumped back out of the way. My eye was watering so much I couldn't have seen anything after that anyway. By the time my eye felt better the fight was over. Nightwing shot this thing in the air . . ."

"A grapple hook," he muttered again, feeling a little dazed. He was discovering that he often felt that way when Elle was around.

"Yeah, a grapple hook, that's it," she smiled. "Wow, it's almost like you were there with me!"

That woke him up! What the _hell_ was he doing? He wasn't supposed to be a Nightwing expert. He needed to shut up and change the subject before she figured this thing out.

"Then he kind of just flew off," Elle finished. She stared off into the space somewhere over his left shoulder. "He was really sexy, though, you know?"

Dick blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to _that_? He wasn't sure, but he thought he almost felt jealous of himself.

"No, I don't know," he grumbled, still unsure if he should be annoyed or flattered.

She laughed. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"What? Uh . . . No," he denied. "Should I be?"

Elle had forgotten in the course of their conversation that she had been upset. She leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Of course not, silly. I already have the sexiest man alive for a boyfriend. I think I would be the one jealous if you suddenly decided to run around Bludhaven or Gotham in skin-tight spandex that leaves nothing to a girl's imagination. Althooough, you _were_ damned sexy in that Batman costume the other night."

"Yes, I think you are definitely feeling better," Dick smirked. He was blushing, however. He hadn't blushed this much since he was in middle school.

He almost regretted his words when she jerked away from him and glanced back at the mirror. He cupped her face, turning her back toward him. "Don't do that," he ordered gently. "I didn't fall in love with just your face, you know."

* * *

Startled, Elle gaped at him. _Did he mean that_? Does _he realize what he just said_? "You don't mean that . . ."

"Yes. I do," he tilted her chin up as he brought his mouth down to meet hers. "I love you, Arabella Hamilton," he whispered softly against her lips. "So, I would appreciate it greatly if you never scared me like that again."

The kiss began as sweet, but as usual quickly gave way to passion. And yet, all the while, the only thing part of them that touched was their mouths, and Dick's hands on her face. They lost track of time, and only pulled away when there came a knock on the door. This time it was Elle who was blushing when Alfred came in bearing a tray, with Bruce following on his heels.

"My, you are looking much better, Miss," Alfred commented as he laid the tray of food on her dresser. "I must say, you had us quite worried there for a time."

Bruce moved to stand behind where Dick still perched. He laid a hand on his son's shoulder and both smiled and frowned down at her simultaneously. Somehow he managed to convey both his concern and his delight at her recovery in that convoluted expression. Elle's lips twitched with amusement.

"Indeed, we were. _Are_ you feeling better, Elle," Bruce asked, his voice serious.

Embarrassed, she dipped her head down, her gaze on her lap. "I am," she admitted, honestly. "The pain is nearly gone."

"Pain," Dick asked, concerned. "You never told me you were still in pain! I mean, you look uncomfortable, but you haven't acted like you were hurting."

Elle peeked up at him, smirking. "Compared to earlier, this is nothing. Just a little residual burning sensation; similar to what I felt the first time something like this happened."

Dick looked put out. "You should have told me this could happen, Elle. We would have found something else to do this afternoon."

"Dick's right, Elle," Bruce agreed. His expression finally settled on serious. "You should have mentioned you had an allergy to chlorine. None of this would have been necessary."

Tears welled in her eyes at his gentle chastisement. "I am so sorry, Mr. Wayne! Once I realized the extent of it, I planned to tell Dick, but then the guards burst in, and then my father!" She sniffled. "But then Damian hit his head, and I-I knew that I was the only one who could get to him quickly enough . . . How is he? Dick said he was recovering, but . . ."

"Yes, I want to thank you for that," Bruce told her. "I realize that without your quick response, he would be recovering in the hospital, or . . . worse; beyond recovery."

"He's ensconced on the sofa in the game room, Miss, currently pursuing his goal of besting Master Richard's top score." Alfred spoke as he poured a spot of tea.

Elle glanced at Dick, a hint of her earlier smile already returning. "Top score? Which game is that?"

Bruce and Dick moved out of Alfred's way as he handed Elle the hot tea. "It does not matter, as Master Richard has long since held the top score in all of the games."

Bruce snorted in amusement. "Drives Damian crazy."

"Will the tea be a problem," Alfred asked, still holding the cup and saucer. "Do you need to continue only with water? I made this with the bottled water your father brought with him."

Elle smiled at him, taking the tea from his hands. "It should be fine. Thank you, Alfred. The burning sensation is only on the skin. My insides merely ache, and the tea should help with that. Don't worry. It will resolve itself with time."

Bruce's eyebrows pulled together. "This . . . allergy, Elle. I've never heard of anything like it. You and your father mentioned that your mother suffered from it as well."

The warmth of the honey-sweetened tea soothed the soreness in her throat. "Mm, yes, she did. Although I don't remember ever seeing her have a reaction before myself, my father told me about it. Hers, I take it, was on par with the reaction I had today. It had frightened Poppa enough that he developed special filters and had a well dug for the house. We have two pools like you do here, but ours is a salt-water filtration system that has no need of chemicals like chlorine. None of the taps in our house has chlorinated water, not even the shower or laundry."

"One of your father's guards said something about your apartment having a special filtered system," Bruce commented.

Elle sighed. "Poppa can be a bit overprotective," she murmured. "But that is correct. He actually added the filter system to the entire apartment building, as well as a smaller one to my apartment alone. Kind of redundant, that, but you can't tell that man anything once an idea gets in his head."

"That's probably good to know," Bruce smiled. "So the chlorine in the tap and shower here are a problem for you as well?"

"I'm not sure," Elle pursed her lips in thought. "Maybe a little, but I'm only here until tomorrow. It might have been why it took so long to stop my reaction, and explains my slow response time."

That comment incited three sets of raised eyebrows. Dick asked what was on all their minds. "This is a slow response time? I have been amazed at the speed of your recovery. I thought you would have required a prolonged hospital stay. This," he indicated her skin, "is incredible!"

Elle shrugged. "The only reason I stayed in the hospital at all the first time was because I was in public when I had the reaction to the chlorine, and someone had called an ambulance. And then the doctors insisted on doing all kinds of tests . . . Some of them Poppa allowed, but others he rejected outright."

"What kinds of tests did he refuse?" Dick asked first, although Bruce's mouth had opened to most likely ask the same thing.

"Certain blood tests, and he refused all genetic testing," she told them. "Although, after what he told us today, it makes a lot more sense why he refused to allow the doctors to pursue it."

Bruce frowned. "After he told you about what today? About the allergy? I was under the impression that you already knew about it."

Elle's eyes widened, and she glanced at Dick. "I . . . uh, I thought he told both of you."

Dick shook his head. "No, only me."

Elle was suddenly nervous. She slid her hands beneath the covers on her lap to hide them. Her hands appeared completely normal sitting in the bed, but she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.

Dick retrieved one of her hands, and held it between two of his own. "You can trust Bruce, Elle. He's fantastic at keeping secrets."

A strange expression crossed Bruce's face as he glanced at his son, but he said nothing.

Elle nodded, but remained silent. She used to joke about this, but now couldn't seem to admit to it once she discovered the truth of the matter.

Dick took pity on her, and spoke the words for her. He would have told Bruce later anyway.

"Elle is part mermaid." He grinned. That was fun to say out loud.

She was surprised when Bruce only nodded, taking the revelation in stride.

"That," he said, "makes perfect sense."


	27. The Favor

"Are you going out?"

It was obvious he was. Bruce was already dressed with the exception of the cowl which hung down his back. Dick hopped up to sit on the Bat computer console facing his adopted father. He swung his feet idly, much as he did when he was a child. Bruce pushed away from the computer to better face his son.

"I was planning to go to the Watchtower," he told him.

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Not on patrol?"

"The city seems pretty quiet this evening. There wasn't much on the police scanner. Why the interest?"

Dick shrugged. "I thought I might join you."

Bruce leaned back, and contemplated his eldest. "Is that a good idea? What if Elle needs you during the night? I noticed she is still wheezing, and her rash hasn't quite disappeared yet."

"I don't know. I wanted to talk to you, but if you're going out I won't see you until morning."

"What do you want to talk about?"

Dick gave him a look. "Do you seriously have to ask that?"

"This weekend has been full of revelations."

"Whew! I'll say . . ." Dick shook his head.

Bruce rested his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers. "Are you having second thoughts about your relationship?"

Dick looked surprised. "What? _No_! It's not that."

Bruce looked at him, keeping his expression neutral. "No one would blame you if you did."

Dick sat up straight at his words; his face and body rigid in anger. "What the _hell_, Bruce? I'm not going to leave her over something like this. In the long term, it's a hiccup. It means nothing!"

"The long term? Since when have you started thinking about the long term," Bruce asked, curious. "You just met this girl."

"I thought you _liked_ her! You're the one who invited her here," Dick snapped.

The edges of Bruce's mouth tilted up ever so slightly. "I do," he said.

Dick blinked. "Y-you what?"

"I like her," he told him. "This 'hiccup' did nothing to change that. I particularly liked the way she stood up to her father, and forced the man to respect you. And how could I _not_ like her after she literally risked her life to save your brother from drowning. From what I've observed, she is brave and honorable, and seems to be completely taken with you for whatever reason."

Dick relaxed. For once he and Bruce were of one mind on something.

"However, that being said, you have only known her for what; four weeks?" Bruce knew that Dick had already fallen hard for this woman, but he was curious to know if Dick was even aware of how deep his feelings ran.

Dick took a breath. He had only just told Elle that he loved her today. It was something he wasn't ready to share with his father yet, for obvious reasons. Bruce would consider it too soon; that Dick was wearing his heart on his sleeve, or some other emotional bullshit. But it wasn't . . . What he felt for her was more real than anything he had ever felt before, even with Babs! He didn't understand it either, but Elle returned the feeling, and he wasn't about to screw up a good thing for no other reason than he was falling for her faster than Bruce thought wise.

"I came here to talk to you about Elle, but not about whether my feelings for her are too much, too soon." Dick ran his hand across the back of his neck, and looked down at the floor. "Elle's family on her mother's side had this family legend. Elle told me about it early on. It became kind of a running joke between us; that she was Aquaman's cousin or niece or something like that."

Bruce frowned. "Do you think that is possible?"

"What? That she could be related to Aquaman?" Dick laughed a little at that; running a hand through his hair. "Up until today, I would have said no, but now . . . Ah, hell, Bruce, I don't know anything anymore."

Bruce didn't comment, but waited for his son to decide what he wanted to believe.

"Okay. That would be a no," Dick said finally. "I would have to say she is related to Aquaman only in that she's part Atlantian, but not in any other way than that. The legend is that her great-grandmother, a sole survivor of a sinking ship, was rescued by an apparent merman, who had sex with her in exchange for taking her to land. Her grandmother was the result of that brief . . . liaison."

"Nice guy," Bruce commented.

Dick snorted. "Yeah, I know; right? Well, although we laughed and joked about it, there were several things that struck me as odd over the past few weeks; things that she's said or did that, in light of what her father told me today, makes the idea the most reasonable explanation. But it bothers her, Bruce. She honestly had no idea, despite some damned compelling evidence, that she was anything but an average human being. "

Unable to sit any longer, Dick got up and began to pace. Bruce turned the chair to keep the younger man in view.

"I guess what I am trying to ask is this; do you think you might find the opportunity to ask Aquaman about this? Maybe, find out if he would be willing to answer some of her questions?"

Bruce stood up at that, and pulled on his cowl. He ignored the look of consternation on his son's face to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you think I'm going to the Watchtower?"

Dick's jaw dropped open in surprise.

"I figured the two of you would have a lot of questions you would want answered. I knew this because I have just as many questions."

The younger man smiled, clutching the hand on his shoulder and placing his other on Batman's. "I can't believe you already thought of all of this. I suppose I should have known you would, though. Thank you, Bruce, from the both of us."

"It may take a while, you know. Arthur is a busy man, being king of Atlantis and all that entails. He doesn't make it to the Watchtower as often as the rest of us, and doesn't show up when he isn't scheduled at all except for world-shattering emergencies."

"I understand."

"We are going to have to do this carefully, you know," Batman warned. "I take it she is unaware of our night work."

"Of course," Dick answered.

He could just imagine Bruce's reaction to his telling Elle about his Nightwing identity. While Dick trusted her, there was no need for her to know at this time, if at all. That he loved her, he had no doubt, but he wasn't so foolish as to risk telling his girlfriend of four weeks that he was a masked vigilante. Telling her about his second identity would be risking more than just his life, but potentially the lives of his family. If they remained together, perhaps then he would tell her. She would need to know eventually, if that were the case.

"If Aquaman agrees, then we'll come up with a way to get the two of them together without risking our identities," Batman told him. "If I can contact him via communicator, I'll see what I can find out in the meantime."

Dick followed Batman to the Zeta Tube at the far side of the cave, and watched him punch in the coordinates he needed.

"I'll be back later," Batman told him. "Do you want me to wake you up?"

"If you find out something, yes; otherwise, I'll just see you in the morning," Dick told him.

"What time do you plan to leave?"

"I'm not scheduled to work until Tuesday morning, but I need to get back tomorrow. Nightwing needs to make an appearance. Four nights without him; the criminals are probably running rampant." Dick shrugged. "Sometime around noon, maybe."

"Good." Batman moved into the tube. "I'll see you later, then. Get some sleep while you can."

"Recognize: Batman. 02," The computer voice announced.

Dick raised a hand as he watched Batman disappear in a blaze of light, feeling better for their talk.


	28. Monday Morning Hugs

**I apologize profusely for the wait. It is difficult to write something bright and full of laughter when also writing something dark and broody. I hope you enjoy this chapter . . . I've only wrote it five times. But I have some really terrific plans for the future of this story.**

* * *

Laughter preceded Dick and Elle's entrance into the kitchen. Mornings in which everyone was present at the manor were almost always informal and the couple walked in to find Tim sitting at the breakfast bar that ran across one section of the kitchen island. Alfred was standing across from Tim and pouring batter into the waffle maker.

"Good morning, Alfred, Tim," Dick greeted them with a grin.

Tim grimaced at his elder brother. "Seriously? Since when are you a morning person?" He turned with his coffee mug cradled in his hands and eyed the couple critically. He frowned. "Elle, you look like you went bargain basement shopping for boyfriends and got scammed. Did you keep your receipt? Maybe if you rush right back over you can get your money back . . ." He smiled charmingly at her. "Or trade him in for a newer model."

Elle laughed as Dick moved past Tim, flipping the younger man in the ear, on his way toward the refrigerator.

"She's out of your league, rookie," Dick smiled. And honestly, what was wrong with being comfortable in the morning if he wasn't on his way to work. If his faded and torn jeans were dirty and not merely worn out, his brother might have had a point, but they were Downy spring-fresh. His t-shirt smelled just as fresh, and had no holes for him to complain about.

Tim winced, rubbing his ear as he jumped up. He performed a gallant bow over Elle's hand. She grinned, accepting his gesture with grace, while wishing him and Alfred a good morning.

"Elle, you look amazing this morning," Tim complimented her. "Are you really into the homeless vagrant look?"

"Thank you, Tim," she said, and then threw a look at the vagrant in question. "He's kind of adorable in a scruffy sort of way, but, you know, he smells _really_ good, and that makes up for the rest." She winked as Dick's head popped up from behind the refrigerator door.

She, unlike Dick, had dressed in a black, ribbed, mock turtleneck and gray, wool slacks with black, suede, ankle boots. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail. Dick reached between them to set two glasses down on the bar, forcing Tim to stepped back. With his newly-freed hand, Dick tugged Elle's head back by her ponytail for a kiss, and then opened the milk so he could pour it.

"Those waffles smell divine, Alfred," Elle smiled, ignoring the other two.

"Cinnamon and nutmeg waffles this morning, Miss Arabella," Alfred answered. He gestured to a platter of various fruits. "You can top it with fruit or syrup. We have several kinds to choose from. And may I add your healing abilities are quite amazing. One cannot tell to look at you that there was ever anything amiss. In fact, your skin appears quite flawless."

Elle uses a spoon to scoop blueberries into her palm, blushing. "Thank you, Alfred. Today is much better. Oh, have you seen Damian? Is he able to come down from his room?"

Alfred looked over at the table in the corner near the door. "Oh, it appears that Damian has left. He was eating when you two came in."

Elle glanced over her shoulder. There was indeed an abandoned table setting with a half-eaten waffle on it. She felt disappointment wash over her. She had wanted to see how he was. She wondered if he was embarrassed because she had needed to save him.

She had just taken a drink of her milk when the door opened and Damian came skidding to a halt. When his ears turned red, Elle was careful not to show her amusement. Her eyes immediately went to his forehead. The skin was bruised and still a bit swollen around the cut he had received yesterday.

"Damian, good morning" she greeted cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

He stepped up to her, and seemed to be gathering his courage for something, not that he appeared afraid, but more like apprehensive. His solemn demeanor had Elle's smile fading. Whatever he was planning to say to her was obviously serious.

"I-I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday," he began. Bright spots appeared on his apple-cheeks that matched his ears. "Father told me what you did was at great risk to yourself."

His face scrunched in confusion. "Are you really allergic to chlorine?"

She sighed. Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. "Uh, yeah. I know. It's kind of a dumb thing to be allergic to, isn't it?"

"Why did you agree to go swimming if you are allergic to the water?"

Elle winced. "That is the million dollar question, isn't it?" She looked over her shoulder at Alfred and Tim. Alfred had already heard this, but Tim was watching her intently, just as eager to learn why she would do such a stupid thing.

"I had a reaction to chlorine when I was sixteen. It took several exposures, but the reaction wasn't anything like what I had yesterday." Elle shrugged. "I was hoping that it would be like that first time, and I could swim for maybe an hour or so before I needed to get out. I really like to swim, and I haven't been able to do so for a long time, you see."

She rolled her eyes, grinning as she glanced back at Dick who was standing at her shoulder. "Our first date and saving that little girl the only exceptions, and those times were either too short or not for enjoyment. But I realized that it was going to be a problem the moment I entered the pool area yesterday. Just the chlorine in the air bothered me. That is the reason that Dick and I turned back around and walked out right away."

Damian frowned at her. "But you ran back in to save me even though you already knew you would have a reaction. Why did you do that?"

Elle blinked. She could tell this was an important question to him. Elle placed her glass on the counter and then crouched down in front of him. He was tall for an eleven year old, and her position placed his face slightly above her own. She looked up at him, biting her lip a second as she contemplated the almost unnerving sense of maturity that emanated from such a young boy. Damian was like a walking contradiction; understanding complex adult concepts, but not always having the emotional maturity it took to deal well with them.

"Because . . .," she started this slowly. She had yet to say this to Dick. It wasn't exactly how she had wanted to tell him, but that was her own fault. She should have said something yesterday, but his own declaration had stunned her. She met Damian's eyes and plowed ahead.

"Because . . .," she started again, the decision made; might as well share it with everyone at the same time. "I _love_ your brother. And he loves you. And because you are so important to him that means that you are just as important to me. Besides, I had already decided early on that I liked you, and I hoped that we might be on our way to becoming friends."

She didn't know if anyone else noticed it, but Damian's eyes grew slightly larger as her explanation went on.

"When you fell yesterday, I was the only one that witnessed it happen. Everyone else had been distracted by the rude entrance made by my father and his bodyguards. While my father was speaking to me, I was watching you dive, so I saw when you hit your head on the diving board."

"Not only was I the closest one to you, but I was also the fastest and most powerful swimmer there. I knew that I could reach you before anyone else, and that I could shave two to three minutes off of the time you were in the water. That's a _huge_ difference, Damian, easily one that could mean the difference between life and death."

Elle reached up and stroked his cheek; partially surprised when he allowed it. "If you had died, I would have been so, so sad. But your _family_, Damian, they would have been devastated. _Dick_ would have been devastated and _that_ would have simply shattered my heart. Saving you was not just the right thing for me to do; it was the only thing I could have done and been able to live with myself afterwards. But it is important that you understand that I _wanted_ to save you. For Dick, yes, definitely, but it was also for me . . . because you and I are friends."

He was silent for a minute as he processed what she thought was a rather long-winded speech for an eleven year old to listen to without losing interest somewhere after the third or fourth word. He nodded, and then his blush was back as he suddenly shoved a piece of paper at her. Elle grabbed it before it could flutter to the floor and looked at it.

_Oh my_ . . . The thought slid away as she gasped.

It was the picture! The one he had made of her Saturday in the music room; the one that she had so coveted that she had been scheming for a way to get him to give it to her. Oh God, she must be hormonal because tears sprang to her eyes, making the picture blurry. She looked up at him, smiling.

"It's_ beautiful_," she gushed. "Is this me from Saturday?" She already knew that it was.

He nodded, looking a little concerned. He hadn't meant to make her cry. "It's not beautiful. I didn't even draw your face."

"It's perfect," she insisted, handing the picture over her head to Dick. She could hear him making some appreciative comments about it, but Elle was distracted as she threw her arms around the startled boy and drew him into a hug.

"Erp," was the sound of Damian's surprise.

The poor boy had no idea what he was supposed to do with his brother's weeping girlfriend clinging to him. The thought made Elle giggle.

"Just go with it, Damian. It'll be over that much quicker if you don't fight it," Dick suggested, unhelpfully; making Elle snort with laughter.

She leaned back, holding Damian by his shoulders. "I think this must be your first exposure to overly-emotional women. Am I right?" Elle tried to control her snickers at the wonderfully befuddled look on the boy's face.

"Uh, no?" Damian answered.

"I'll bet that you're still trying to get used to us." Elle winked at him.

Elle stood up; staggering when her blood pressure dropped and a wave of vertigo washed over her. Damian made to grab for her, as did Dick, though he was too far away as he had moved to show off Damian's artwork to Tim and Alfred. Strong arms, however, swept her up before she could fall.

"Careful," Bruce murmured as he moved to set her on a barstool. "And good morning to you, too."

Elle gaped at him, stammering a greeting in response. She hadn't even heard him enter the room! Dick was on the other side of her in an instant.

"Are you alright? Maybe you should have stayed in bed for another day," Dick said. "It's been less than twenty-four hours, you know."

"Pfft," Elle waved him off. "I just stood up too fast. A perfectly normal, if annoying circumstance. I'm completely recovered."

"Not completely," he countered, with a frown. "Your voice is still a little hoarse." He hoped that would not be permanent.

Elle cleared her throat. "Not for much longer," she assured him. She hoped she wasn't lying.

He leaned in, nuzzling her ear, and whispered. "I like it. It's kind of sexy!"

She rolled her eyes at him, but grinned. Dick seemed to have a talent for making her feel better.

Alfred handed her a plate with a fresh, steaming waffle on it and Elle made use of the fruit and whipped cream. Dick bumped Tim off of his chair, sitting down next to her as Alfred handed him his plate next.

"Hey," Tim yelped. "I was sitting there!"

Dick slid his plate further down the bar. "And now you're sitting there," he quipped, lightly.

Elle picked up her plate and drink and hopped off the stool to sit by Damian at the table. Dick and Tim grabbed their plates simultaneously and rushed to the table in an effort to sit beside her. Unfortunately, Bruce was on the other side of the one empty chair, and coolly grabbed Tim's plate before he was forced to wear it to the office. He set the plate on the other side of him, placing Tim on the other side of Damian.

"This is so not fair," he grumbled at his elder brother. "You get to sit beside her any time you want."

Dick grinned. "That's right. And I want to sit beside her now."

Elle smiled encouragingly at Damian, and the boy grudgingly scooted over to make room for Tim on the bench. Tim slides onto the bench gingerly as if he was expecting Damian to attack at the least provocation, but the younger boy ignores him. Alfred raises his eyebrows and meets Bruce's eyes as he serves him. It is the first time that the two boys had sat next to one another without one trying to stab the other with a fork. It was most impressive.

* * *

Tim had to leave after breakfast to attend class. He had a test he couldn't miss, so said his goodbyes immediately after breakfast. Damian, however, had been allowed to miss school for the day, and he stood at the back of Jaguar helping Dick put in the luggage.

Elle turned to Alfred. "You have been so patient and kind to me this weekend, Alfred. Thank you for taking care of me so well when I know I was so much trouble."

Alfred seemed pleased with her speech. "Nonsense, Miss Arabella. I am very much used to trouble in this household, and I assure you that you have been a pleasure to serve."

A rumble of vehicles caught her attention, and she turned with the others to watch a couple of vans and one large truck moving up the drive. As the newcomers neared, Elle caught sight of the company logo and gasped. Hamilton Industries! She spun around to Bruce.

"What are my father's company vehicles doing here?" If it came out as more of a demand than a question, her host gave no indication.

"I'm updating the manor," he said easily. "And the pools."

Her eyes widened in shock. "You mean . . ."

"I spoke with your father about putting in a new filtration system into the house, and changing the indoor pool from chlorine to salt water. He gave me an excellent deal," Bruce smiled, but was watching the workmen climb out of the vehicles. "I'll do the outdoor pool in the spring."

"Oh my God," Elle whispered, stunned. This was a lot of work and expense when no one in the household had her sensitivity. She was just a girlfriend of a son he saw once or twice a month. "Y-you did this . . . for me?"

"Of course," he declared, as if this were the most sensible thing in the world. "I expect you to come and visit again, and I want you to be comfortable and to feel safe while you are here, as well as have the freedom to use the pool anytime you wish."

"That . . ." Elle could barely speak around the lump in her throat. "That has to be one of the nicest, most extravagant things that anyone had ever done for me. Well, I mean, who wasn't a relative. This is a great inconvenience for you."

"Nonsense," Bruce repeated Alfred's sentiment warmly. "You make my son happy," he told her. "There is nothing inconvenient about that."

Oh, that did it. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes, and Elle threw her arms around the startled man and hugged him for all she was worth.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "You are wonderful!"

"Just go with it, Father. It's over that much quicker if you don't fight it," Damian's voice came from behind her.

Elle was laughing and wiping her eyes as she released Bruce. She turned to the boy who was standing nearby, almost as if he were patiently awaiting his own turn for a hug. Elle made certain she didn't disappoint. She kneeled down and wrapped Damian up in an enthusiastic hug; even going so far as to rock him a bit.

She grinned when she felt his arms slide hesitantly around her shoulders. She gave him an extra squeeze before releasing him.

"You are so adorable," she declared, ignoring his blush. "I want you to come and visit your brother over a weekend sometime. I'll plan something fun that we can all do together."

Elle slid her hand into the small backpack she was using as a purse, and pulled out a pen. Turning Damian's hand over, she wrote her cell phone and home numbers on his palm. She knew it would tickle and felt his hand twitch in hers, although he struggled to remain stoic throughout the ordeal.

"There now," she said. "You can call me anytime you like. Make sure you copy these down somewhere you won't lose them before you wash your hands again."

Damian stared at his palm, looking a little dazed. She wondered if he would have let her do this if she had asked first. She had noticed that he pretended he didn't care a lot when his eyes often begged for attention. Rather than give him a chance to blow off her offer, she had just bypassed his permission all together and forced her numbers on him. It would be up to him if he decided to wash the numbers off without writing them down elsewhere, or whether or not to actually use them to call her sometime.

When she went to stand back up, both Bruce and Dick took hold of her elbows to support her. She giggled as she thanked them for their courtesy.

"Bruce, you will have to come back to Chez Donovan's, and bring Alfred with you next time. Oh, I may even be able to arrange for you to be able to bring Tim and Damian as well. But let me check on that first. I'd hate to promise something only to have the boys turned away at the door." She looked at Dick, excited. "Maybe I could do an early show just so you can bring your family!"

"That's very generous of you," Bruce began.

"Nonsense," she told him with a smirk as she followed Dick to the car. "That is what family does for one another."

"What do you think of her now, Damian?" Bruce glanced down to see his youngest son gazing thoughtfully at the phone numbers written on his hand.

"She's very emotional," he commented. " . . . And perky," he added as an afterthought.

Bruce smiled, marveling how easily it came to his face after this weekend. "Yes, Damian," he said, agreeing with his son's assessment. "She is that."

"But all in all, not bad," he murmured, and walked back into the house.

"No, she's not bad at all," Bruce nodded.

The weekend hadn't gone entirely as planned, but at the end of it, he was satisfied. Dick was happy, and that is what mattered most, but then there was the added bonus of Damian's apparent acceptance of her. The young woman was part mermaid, but it seemed like she may have a bit of magic to her as well.

* * *

**I'm still working on a couple of other stories as well, but I hope to get a chapter out regularly. I'm aiming for once a week at least, so if too much time goes by, feel free to PM me to remind me. **


	29. You've Got Mail

Police Officer Dick Grayson pulled the short straw and got stuck with filling out the paperwork for his and his partner's most recent arrest. Amy Rohrback, said partner, was dropping off the bags of cocaine and money to the evidence room and then was supposed to scent out the most recent batch of coffee available. Dick was seriously hoping that whatever pot she discovered wasn't one left there from this morning.

He was ready for his first day back to work to be over. Apparently the bridge incident had been aired in Bludhaven as much as it had in Gotham City. He had been teased all day about his Batman costume, and while he had laughed with everyone for the first few hours, it was getting kind of old now. He had been receiving candy bars and even a couple of pumpkins cut up to resemble Gotham's most famous Bat throughout the day. Every time he and Amy had come in from the streets, and this was number three; there had been another handful of candy and another decorated gourd sitting on his desk.

The station was a madhouse. Dick rubbed his eyes and glanced around at the numerous arrests and several irate or hysterical victims scattered around the room. Sometimes the only way to tell the difference between those arrested and those victims was to count the handcuffs. He reached into the top drawer of the desk he and Amy shared to pull out a couple of extra-strength ibuprofen. The constant roar of the station was punctuated by bursts of yelling or screams and the scraping of chairs. Unwilling to wait for the return of his partner, Dick popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

And a king-sized Snickers landed in the middle of his paperwork.

"Maybe it isn't the noise," the voice of fellow officer, Derek Chaney, cut through the din. "Maybe it's low blood sugar."

Dick pursed his lips and picked up the candy bar. He was seconds away from chucking the thing at Chaney's head, when his phone vibrated. He had tossed it on top of the desk when he sat down, and he watched as it danced across the files that were strewn over the desk. He had just come back from Gotham only yesterday. What was left to be said that hadn't been discussed while he had been there?

He groaned as he rubbed the crease between his eyes; reminding himself that he loved his family, truly, he did. Sighing, he reached for the device when Chaney snatched it up first.

"It's a text," he announced loud enough for people to hear halfway across the room. He touched a button, standing up and jumping away when Dick attempted to grab the cell phone away from him. "You got mail," he read. "From Elle . . . Who's Elle? I thought you were pining for someone named Barbara."

Dick jumped up; stepping on the chair, then the desk he practically launched himself at Derek. The two of them slid across a neighboring desk, scattering paperwork and files across the floor. Their co-workers leapt out of the way, but none bothered intervening.

Yanking his phone out of Chaney's hand, Dick scrolled back to the text as he walked back to his desk. "Pick those files up, will you, Chaney," he called back over his shoulder.

Chaney grumbled, but bent down to pick up the papers and folders. After all, he might have avoided being tackled had he just handed the phone back and kept his mouth shut. Everyone knew from 8 months of experience that mentioning the ex-girlfriend came with consequences.

"Sorry about that, Grayson," Chaney told him when he was done. "That was a low blow."

It was a surprise, however, to find that Grayson wasn't sulking in his chair. Instead he was leaning back in it with a smile on his face. Chaney frowned.

"Hey, what's up? Did you and that pretty redhead finally get back together?" Chaney leaned against Dick's desk.

Dick looked up, startled to find Chaney still hanging around. "What? Oh, um, no, we didn't."

Observant as any good officer of the law, Chaney noticed that Grayson was still smiling as he said that. "No? I thought you had it bad." He looked down at the phone in the other man's hand curiously. "So, this Elle person; is she the new ball-n-chain or what?"

"Or what," Dick answered mysteriously. He pulled up a video that Elle had sent him. Considering that she never called him at work, let alone sent him a video, Dick was too eager to wait until he was off work to look at it.

The video popped up with a close-up of Elle. Dick recognized Chez Donovan's in the background. He glanced at the time. One-fifteen . . . She would be at rehearsals right now as she was scheduled to sing tonight. She was talking to whoever was holding her phone.

"Yeah, and you just press that button right there when we're done," she was saying.

God, she looked good. Her dark hair was piled onto her crown in a messy ponytail, exposing her neck. She was wearing an oversized, boatneck sweater; this one a medium taupe over top of cream-colored skinny jeans and matching taupe, knee-high boots. She always looked classy, even when dressing down. He knew this was her rolling out of bed and shuffling to rehearsal with her eyes still closed look. Elle might have been sleepy when she left her apartment, but she looked bright and alert now.

"Oh, my God! Who the hell is that," Chaney breathed over his shoulder.

Dick reached back, without bothering to look, and shoved the man away with a hand over the guy's face.

"Hey! Ow!" The man grumbled, but was right back where he was but a moment before seconds later. "No, seriously, Grayson. Who is that? Don't tell me _that_ is Elle!"

"Don't you ever shut up," Dick complained. "I can't hear what she's saying."

"Neither can I," Derek said. "Turn up the volume."

Dick complied. The station was loud and Chaney was likely to talk all the way through this.

Elle walked over and was talking to several people who played for her regularly. When she turned back around she was carrying a ukulele. A second later, she started strumming. Dick grinned. He had no idea that Elle could play the ukulele.

Her voice floated through the phone.

...

"_Well, you done done me and you bet I felt it_

_I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted _

_I fell right through the cracks _

_Now I'm trying to get back_."

...

Elle danced around as she sang to the phone, grinning as she performed especially for him. The song was sweet and upbeat and suddenly Dick wasn't so tired anymore. Even his headache was easing.

...

"_Before the cool done run out I'll be giving it my bestest_

_And nothing's gonna stop me but divine intervention_

_I reckon it's again my turn _

_To win some or learn some_.

...

"_But I won't hesitate, no more, no more_

_It cannot wait, I'm yours_."

...

Chaney was quiet where he was stationed at his right shoulder. Dick felt another couple of people stop behind him over his left shoulder, but he didn't bother looking. He must have been concentrating hard because the roar inside the room seemed to fade a bit into the background. Dick was glad of this because now he could hear her better. Something in him relaxed.

...

"_Well, open up your mind and see like me_

_Open up your plans and damn, you're free_

_Look into your heart and _

_You'll find love, love, love love_.

...

"_Listen to the music of the moment, _

_People dance and sing_

_We're just one big family_

_And it's our God-forsaken right _

_To be loved, loved, loved, loved, loved_ . . .

...

"_So I won't hesitate no more, no more_

_It cannot wait, I'm yours. I'm sure_

_There's no need to complicate_

_Our time is short. This is our fate._

_I'm yours_ . . .

...

"_Do docha do docha do do docha do _

_Don't cha want to come on_ . . .

...

Elle took little side steps closer to the camera with the music, a grin splattered across her face and a teasing look in her eye as if she were looking right at him that very second.

...

"_Scootch on over closer, dear_

_And I will nibble your ear_ . . .

...

Several people started laughing there. It sounded like more than a few now, but Dick was enjoying his little semi-private concert, and didn't bother glancing back. So long as they shut up so he could hear Elle laughing her way through a little scat.

...

"_I've been spending way too long_

_Checking my tongue in the mirror_

_And bending over backwards _

_Just to try to see it clearer_

_But my breath fogged up the glass_

_And so I drew in a face and I laughed_.

...

"_I guess what I'm a saying is_

_There ain't no better reason_

_To rid yourself of vanities_

_And just go with the seasons._

_It's what we aimed to do_

_Our name is our virtue_.

...

"_But I won't hesitate no more,_

_No more it cannot wait_

_I'm yours_ . . .

...

"_Well, open up your mind and see like me_

_Open up your plans and damn, you're free_

_Look into your heart and you'll find _

_That the sky is yours_ . . .

...

"_So please don't, please don't, please don't . . ._

_There's no need to complicate_

'_Cause our time is short_

_This oh, this oh, this is our fate_

_I'm yours_ . . .

...

"_Oh, I'm yours. Oh, I'm yours._

_Oh, oh, baby_

_Do you believe I'm yours?_

_You best believe, you best believe I'm yours_ . . .

...

Elle continued to play and hum along for the last few seconds of the song. When it ended, she walked close to the camera and blew him a kiss.

"I hope you're having a great day, sweetheart," she grinned at him.

Elle signaled the person behind the camera, and then turned and walked back to the band. If the video had been supposed to end then, it didn't. The camera followed her as she raised her arms to group of people that had accompanied her song.

"I'm so in love," she yelled out, and everyone there in the band laughed and applauded her.

Dick laughed with them, and to his surprise so did a lot of other people; a **_lot_** of other people. He turned his head and was astonished to see at least a dozen police officers and a couple of secretaries gathered behind him watching his video play. Amy was standing a few people back and shrugged her shoulders, smirking. She passed up his coffee to him.

If that wasn't shocking enough, Dick suddenly noticed how quiet it had gotten in the room. It wasn't just his fellow officers that had been listening to Elle's little, impromptu serenade, but also the criminals, who had settled down. The victims had also stopped crying and screaming . . . Dick frowned. What the hell just happened?

Several of his fellow officers slapped him on the back, congratulating him on being a lucky guy. People were smiling as they went back to whatever they were doing; a little spring in their step that hadn't been there before. Some of the criminals were still a bit snarky, but none were hostile any longer. He blinked slowly in wonder. He glanced down at his phone again, and then back up at the room's occupants. People were calmer; more mellow, even happy!

Who the hell was happy at a police station?

He shook his head. It wasn't that he was complaining, but what just happened here wasn't in the normal course of things. People who came here were angry, violent, upset, hysterical. They didn't just fall into a better mood because someone turned on a radio. But they did today . . . They stopped what they were doing to listen to Elle sing, and when she had finished, they were almost pleasant.

It was the damndest thing he had ever witnessed, and he wanted to explore this a little bit more.

Dick stood up and took a large drink of his coffee, even though he no longer felt irritable and tired any more. In fact, his headache was gone; not better, he noted, but completely gone in just a few minutes! He grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket.

"Amy," he interrupted his partner as she chatted with another officer. "Sorry, but I need to run down to holding a minute. Would you mind finishing the report for me?"

She smiled pleasantly at him as she agreed. Dick smiled back and shook his head in wonder. Amy hated doing those reports as much as he did; it was why they always had to draw straws or play rock, paper, scissors at the end of an arrest.

Filing that away, he trotted down to holding. There had been a demonstration at the courthouse early that morning that had gotten out of hand. Dozens of people had been brought in for vandalism, assault, and resisting arrest charges. He remembered hearing about them having to separate certain groups from one another and that even now people were shouting threats across the aisles and through the bars.

Dick entered the area to discover that the noise and hostility down here was far worse than anything that he had heard upstairs. He felt the beginnings of that headache coming back. He thought about yelling to gain everyone's attention, but he hadn't needed to do that upstairs. People had calmed down on their own within a few stanzas. He pulled up Elle's video and pressed play.

In a few seconds her voice slid through the air like silk. Dick turned the volume up as far as it could go and waited and watched. He felt his eyes being drawn back to the video time and again, but he would catch himself and looked back up at the people in the cells.

Sure enough, after a minute into the song, the volume of noise had lowered significantly. Men turned away from those they had been yelling threats to and slowly but surely, either sat down or turned to face Dick and his phone. By the end of the song, the holding cells were silent; the men in them, if not smiling pleasantly, were at least not actively angry.

He smiled and waved at the group for want of something to do, and was surprised when a few of them waved back. He walked back upstairs marveling at this new information, and a little amazed to discover that the new headache that had began when he came down the stairs had vanished by the time he walked back up them.

He needed to call Bruce tonight. Batman needed to arrange for that meeting with Aquaman as soon as possible. But Dick decided that he wanted to talk to the king of Atlantis first, before he arranged for the man to meet a possible long-lost relative.

* * *

**REACTIONS? Are new questions arising in your mind? **

**I really loved this . . . I couldn't imagine a better thing to pop up in the middle of a bad day than to be serenaded by someone you love just because he/she loves you! It seemed like a very "Elle" thing to do! **

**The song she sings to Dick on the video while playing the ukulele is (if you haven't heard it or haven't heard it in a while) "I'm Yours" written by Jason Mraz and released in April 2008. It broke records by staying in the Top 100 chart for 76 straight weeks. It's only been broken since (as far as I know) by two other songs. I don't know Mr. Mraz and I certainly do not own his song, but I do enjoy listening to it. It puts me into a better mood as well.  
**


	30. Suspicions

Dick didn't mention the effect Elle's little music video had on the police station. He wasn't certain how she would take it. He wasn't entirely sure how he was taking it for that matter. He had repeated the experiment two more times since Tuesday with similar results. After a minute, people, no matter how violent or upset they were, would begin quieting down in order to listen. Before the song had ended, the room was silent and all those angry people were mellow or even happy, despite being behind bars or handcuffed to a chair. It was the damndest thing he had ever witnessed, but a little frightening as well.

He called Bruce while at his desk. Dick was certain he was still at work. Gretchen, Bruce's secretary, answered. Bruce was in a meeting. Of course, he was. He would be available in an hour. Dick was off in an hour and had nothing planned except going to Elle's show this evening. But he felt hesitant to go after this discovery.

He needed to discuss this with Bruce first. He needed to speak to Aquaman. He was pretty sure that Bruce would have called him had the Atlantian king contacted him, but perhaps, once he showed the video to Bruce, he could make another more urgent plea to the man to come. In the meantime, Dick thought it might behoove him to avoid Elle . . . Just for a little while.

He called her.

"Hi," Elle chirped. "I was just thinking about you."

"Hi yourself," he said, a smile spreading across his face. He noticed. It was like he couldn't help himself.

"I can't wait to see you tonight. I've missed you," she told him.

They hadn't seen each other since Monday with the exception of Elle's video. Although they had spoken a couple of times since then, they were content to wait until Thursday to see each other.

"I missed you, too," he assured her. And he did. There was an ache in his chest just thinking about what he was about to do. "I called you for a reason."

"Oh?" Elle's voice held a note of curiosity. "And what reason is that?"

"I'm not going to be able to make it tonight," he told her. The ache flared in his chest. He frowned. It was actually hard for him to disappoint her! "I'm needed back in Gotham this evening. I'll try to make it there tomorrow night."

"Oh, I hope nothing is wrong." He could hear the worry in her voice. "Is Damian okay?"

The smile was back. She and Damian seemed to really hit it off well. But then he couldn't help wondering if their friendship wasn't related to what he had seen in the video. Damian wasn't one to trust easily, and making friends with someone he just met was completely out of character for him. Had Elle somehow hypnotized him or put some kind of spell on him through her voice? Bruce, too, liked and trusted her almost immediately! Bruce was the most paranoid, cynical person on the face of the earth . . .

Which led Dick back to his own feelings for her; were they real? Or was this something that happened because he had been going to hear her sing for weeks on end? Had he been subjecting himself to a type of brainwashing? Did she know how her singing affected people? Had she done this on purpose? It wouldn't be the first time that someone tried to get close to Bruce's money through him. It likely wouldn't be the last. But it didn't make sense to him. She came from a wealthy family. Even though Elle wanted to make it on her own, she really didn't need the money.

Dick rubbed his chest with one hand. This line of thinking was becoming physically painful! What the hell did she do to him?

"Dick? Hello? Are you there," Elle asked. Her concern was growing; he could hear it in her voice. "Is everything all right? Do you need me?"

"What?"

"If you need me, I think I might still have time to call someone in to cover for me," she offered.

"Ah, no," he said. "It's nothing like that. Bruce just needs me to help him research something he needs for a meeting tomorrow." Dick winced. He hated lying to her.

"Well, if you're sure. I guess I will see you tomorrow then. I'll miss you."

"I miss you, too. I'm sorry about this," he said.

"No, that's okay," she reassured him. She sounded sincere, and he breathed a little easier. "Your family is important to you, and that makes them important to me. If Bruce needs you; you need to go. There will be other nights. Don't worry about it."

As they hung up, Dick felt relieved that she was okay with him missing her show, but he couldn't shake the ache in his chest or the guilt he felt for lying to her. He wondered if that was natural or something insidious on her part. The pang that thought caused him, made him catch his breath.

He grabbed his jacket and keys. He could be at the Manor in an hour.

* * *

"Master Richard! This is a surprise," Alfred said upon opening the door for him. "We weren't expecting you back for another week."

Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was in the neighborhood and just passing through . . ."

"Come in, come in," Alfred told him with a small smile. "You don't need a reason to stop by for a visit."

Dick grinned as he took off his jacket. He was still in uniform. He had left his service revolver locked in a compartment of his bike since Bruce had a thing about guns being in the house. As much as he hated them, it was Bruce who had first taught him to shoot. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Be that as it may, Alf, I actually do have a reason for stopping by," Dick said. "Is Bruce home yet?"

"Master Bruce is in the den," Alfred informed him. "I will bring in some tea, perhaps, and I made some fresh scones. May I assume you'll be staying for dinner?"

"Sounds great, Alfred," Dick replied, although it didn't take a detective to see that the young man was preoccupied.

Dick made his way to the den and paused in the doorway. Bruce was on the phone, pacing in front of the fireplace. It took only a glance to tell he was agitated. Whatever news he was getting was bad, apparently.

"How much are we talking about here? . . . And no one had any clue this was going on until now? . . . Make certain of this before you make a formal accusation. If he is guilty of this, I want him out and in handcuffs, but there must be irrefutable proof. I won't subject the man to this unless we are certain he is guilty as charged." Bruce was saying.

He waved Dick into the room with one hand, without looking up. Dick entered, but remained near the door. He didn't want to interrupt what looked to be an important phone call.

"And you know this for a fact?" Bruce slammed a hand down on the mantle hard enough to cause a number of the photographs there to shift. "Fine. Have security make copies of those tapes as well to use as evidence. We wait until he comes in tomorrow morning; from there have security meet him with Gotham PD. They can arrest him and escort him out of the building at that point."

Bruce shook his head. "He has a wife and three children, doesn't he? . . . If he is unaware that we are onto him, then it is better to do it at the office. This is going to be difficult enough for his family; I'd hate to drag the man out of his home in handcuffs in front of his children. Alright. Good. I'll see you tomorrow at seven-thirty sharp."

Bruce hung up the phone with a little more force than necessary. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and anger. Dick watched him control his breathing in an effort to calm down before addressing him, but Dick wanted him angry. This would be the final test he needed.

"Bruce? What happened," Dick asked. He needed him to remain irritated for another moment. He started pulling up the video, but refrained pressing play just yet.

"A discrepancy was found during an audit. Apparently I have been employing an embezzler for the last five years," the older man growled.

Dick frowned. "How much did he get?"

"Three point five million," Bruce told him. "Apparently Wayne Enterprises' benefit package was lacking in some way."

He whistled. "Ouch! Will you be able to recoup the money?"

"I don't know," Bruce turned to face him. "It isn't even the money that bothers me as it is the betrayal of a trusted employee. I try to be fair to my employees. I pay them competitive wages and supply a rather excellent benefit package, along with offering scholarships, intern programs, tuition reimbursements, a daycare center . . . And then this. These people, they think they are stealing from me, but in truth they are stealing from their coworkers in the end!"

Bruce's face was actually turning red. Yep, he was hot.

"You sound pretty angry right now," he confirmed.

Bruce glared at him. Perfect, Dick thought. He held up a finger. "Okay, hold that thought, and remember how you are feeling right this minute." He held up his phone and pressed play. "I want you to listen to this now. Don't comment, just listen."

Elle's voice drifted out of the phone.

Dick watched Bruce's face as he listened. At first he frowned, not understanding why Dick wanted him to listen to music while he was still so irritated. It did seem frivolous and not suited to the circumstances, after all. But then the crease between his brows eased a bit. About halfway through the song, he drifted over to sit down by the fire. Dick followed and sat down in the opposite chair. As the song ended, Dick turned it off. He didn't want to hear Elle proclaiming her love for him right now.

"So, now how do you feel," he asked.

Bruce took a large breath, crossing his legs and propping his hands in front of him. "Better actually. More relaxed. What is going on? Why did you come all the way to Gotham just to have me listen to a recording of . . . That was Elle, wasn't it? It is rather hard to not recognize her voice." He smiled.

Dick chewed on his lower lip; a habit he had when he was upset about something or had a problem he didn't know how to deal with.

"Bruce, I need to talk with Aquaman. I need to do it soon," he said, not really answering the question. Answering the question meant having to put into words all the disturbing thought he'd been having over the past few days; making it a reality rather than just a crazy theory.

"I told you it could take a while. Arthur has many obligations outside of the Justice League," Bruce said carefully. Something was bothering his son that was apparent.

Dick sighed. He wished now that he hadn't come. He wished that he had waited until after work to watch the damned video. Why did he have to be so observant? Why did he have to question what was meant to be a gift? Surely that was all Elle had meant the song to be . . . A gift!

Bruce leaned over and tapped Dick's leg. "What's going on? This obviously has something to do with Elle. What happened that you suddenly cannot wait for answers?"

"I . . . I think," Dick ran his hands over his face and through his hair in frustration. Why did this feel like he was betraying her in some way? "I think that Elle has the ability to . . . I don't know the right word here; maybe . . . _hypnotize_ people through her voice."

He watched as Bruce blinked at that. His eyes looked far away as he thought about it. Dick knew he was going over every time he had heard Elle sing; every time he had listened to her speak. Anyone else would have looked at him like he was insane, but not Bruce. Dick knew that Bruce would take his idea seriously. It was why he came here. It was why he was currently terrified to know if Bruce thought he might be right.

"That's an interesting theory," Bruce said, noncommittally. "Before I express an opinion, would you like to tell me what brought you to this conclusion?"

And here was the other reason he came to his adopted father; the reason he trusted this man's opinion over any other. Bruce didn't make snap judgments. He listened to all of the evidence before coming to a decision one way or the other; just like he did with the embezzler. Bruce wouldn't let him make what might be the biggest mistake of his life.

The man wasn't stupid. He knew without a word that Dick loved this woman. He might think it too soon, but he was well aware of his son's tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He also knew that Dick had loved Barbara Gordon for years, and that in the course of a few short weeks, he had totally gotten over her and fallen head over heels for this new woman.

Dick had known Babs for years before he had admitted that his fascination for the redhead had become love. He had known Elle for five weeks, and had known _of_ her for only five weeks before that. Even though he was well aware that he loved easily, even Dick didn't fall in love this quickly. But he remembered his reaction to her the moment she had walked out on that stage that first evening; before she had even opened her mouth.

Love at first sight? Was that even possible? He would have said no just a couple of months ago, but now? He had thought it lust at the time; that incredible attraction that had sizzled between them despite the crowd, despite the distance between his table and the stage. But when he first spoke to her, and God, the first time he had kissed her . . . He had known even then. He hadn't been willing to admit it until this last weekend, but his subconscious mind had already admitted what his heart had already known.

"Elle sent this video to me on Tuesday afternoon," he stated slowly. "She had someone record it during her rehearsal. I opened it while still at work."

Nervously, he sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees; his hands clasped. He stared at the plush Aubusson carpet without really seeing it. He shoved the sudden nausea back down and continued.

"That day had been crazy," he said. "There had been a demonstration that morning that had turned into a riot. The holding cells had been filled to capacity, and an officer had to be posted to prevent people from basically killing each other even behind bars. There were a dozen men and women upstairs to be processed that had been arrested for everything from armed robbery, domestic abuse, A&amp;B, you name it. There were also at least another half dozen people there that were victims of crimes. They were all yelling and screaming, shouting threats, basically a room full of hostiles with a room full of overworked, underpaid cops that looked like what I had been feeling myself all day; irritation, annoyance, and anger. In short, it was a powder keg ready to blow up any second."

Dick blew out his breath. "Elle never calls me at work. Her reason is that she doesn't want to distract me if I'm in the middle of something dangerous. She always waits until I'm off if she wants to talk. But that day, she sent a text telling me that I have mail. It was only a half hour or so before I got off for the day, so I guess she thought it would be safe enough. Because she sent it during the workday, I immediately opened it. I thought it must be important for her to send it to me before I got home."

"And that was it," Bruce asked. "The song you just played for me?"

Dick nodded. "I had a headache from hell. I had literally just taken something for it right before I opened the video." He laughed a little, remembering his surprise; his delight at the gesture.

"It was sweet, you know? And it immediately began to lift my spirits. The noise was loud though, so I turned up the volume as high as it would go. I remember thinking after a minute into it, that the noise level had improved, but I didn't bother turning down the volume. Nobody complained, after all. By the time I got to the end of it, I suddenly realized two things. My headache was completely gone and I was relaxed, and the room was silent."

He leaned back in the chair, but didn't look at Bruce. He stared instead into the fire. "There's a little part after the song where Elle believes whoever was recording had stopped. She walks away toward the band behind her and says something . . . cute. Anyway, I laughed, but so did a lot of other people. When I looked behind me, there were more than a dozen officers standing around watching over my shoulders. As the group broke up, people that were tired and cranky before were smiling and cracking jokes. I looked around the room, and everyone in it, including the criminals and victims were calm, mellow, and some of them were even smiling, too."

Dick looked at Bruce now. "I'd never seen anything like it."

"And this is why you think she has some sort of power or ability to what? Alter people's thinking? Change their moods?" Bruce was staring at him. His expression was serious, however. At least, he hadn't yet decided if his son was going nuts or not.

"I tested it out, Bruce . . . Twice," Dick was quick to assure him. He knew he sounded nuts. "I took it down to the holding cells. It was almost a madhouse there. I heard later that there were considering using tear gas, that's how bad it was. Anyway, all I did was to turn the volume up and hit play. Within a minute, the noise level had dropped by half. By the end of the song, people were quiet. I even saw a couple of people smiling." He turned in his seat to face the older man. "Bruce, this just doesn't happen . . . But it did. I swear it did. I tried it again the next day with the same results!"

Bruce was silent for a long time as he considered everything Dick had told him. When he spoke, it was with a soft voice.

"I'll admit that by the end of the song, I was definitely feeling better. My anger at being misled had vanished and I felt relaxed, like you said you did afterward." Bruce sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Of what exactly are you accusing her? Do you think she is set on world domination?"

Exasperated, Dick jumped up and started pacing as Bruce had done just a few minute before. "_No_! I don't know! I was just thinking that if she can do that, then what is it that I'm really feeling about her? I mean, Bruce, I'm falling in _love_ with this woman!" He shook his head. "No," he corrected. "I _am_ in love with her."

Dick faced his father, friend, and mentor and allowed his worry and fear to show. "Is what I'm feeling for her real, Bruce? Or did she do this to me purposely? And it isn't just me! You liked her immediately before you knew anything about her. Then there is _Damian_! Have you ever known him to actually like someone that quickly? You saw the animosity he had for her on Friday, but by Monday he was accepting _hugs_ from her! Even you have to admit that is weird!"

"Dick, it is true that I liked her right away, and I must admit that it is odd for me to make a snap judgment like that, but it is only fair to say that the more I learned about her, the more I felt justified in my initial response. She does exude honesty and sincerity. I felt as if she meant every word she spoke. Of course, I was probably more open to liking her because she managed to pull you out of that eight month funk you've been in since you and Barbara split." Bruce said, slowly.

"I was impressed by her bravery and concern for you after that incident on the bridge Friday night. She didn't pout when she missed her opportunity to sing at that party, but was intent on helping the child and mother, and then supporting you. I was impressed by her patience with Damian; her willingness to, not only forgive his bad behavior, but also her willingness to share you with your family. She risked her life to save Damian when she didn't have to. Not one of us would have blamed her for staying in the gym when he fell, and yet she very likely saved him from hospital stay if not his life."

Bruce met Dick's eyes. "Elle has been nothing, if not gracious and polite while here. And then there was her defense of you to her father. I find it very hard not to like her. I also find it equally as difficult to think that my impressions of her this past weekend were due entirely to her voice."

Dick blew out his breath, relief flooding him. "So, I'm full of shit, is that what you're saying?"

Bruce pursed his mouth at the younger man's language. "Not entirely. I see your point. And she may have some unique quality that makes her likable, or lovable in your case, but I don't think it was powerful enough to make me like her if there wasn't something there already to like."

"You don't believe that she made me love her, then?"

Frowning, Bruce shook his head. "I don't know. She comes from a wealthy family. While you have access to considerable wealth, eventually you will be worth more than her father; although that won't happen until you inherit. I cannot see a monetary motive for her making you love her. I suppose there might still be a reason yet unknown to us." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "But it's the possibility of it that is bothering you, I think."

"I'm not fond of being manipulated, no," Dick admitted.

"Do you have your suit with you?" Bruce stood up and looked outside. It was still daylight. "We can go to the Watchtower and try to reach Aquaman again. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to avoid Elle."

Dick nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Just keep in mind that you could hurt her by doing this." Bruce warned him.

"I know," he said.

That uneasy feeling rose up inside of him again. Despite this suspicion, Dick didn't want to hurt her. He remembered the warning that Brian Donovan had given him the night Elle had first serenaded him. He had called her an innocent. He hadn't seen anything in Elle's behavior to make him doubt that. But he had to know if she had somehow knowingly manipulated his emotions.

Was it strange that what he was feeling for Elle seemed to make everything else pale in comparison? Was he lucky to have found such a woman, or was he a fly caught in her web? He had to know! He had to be absolutely sure.


	31. The End of a Very Bad Day

**Warning: A Bit of Bad Language . . .**

**Note: Just for clarification, this chapter occurs approximately three weeks after the previous chapter.**

* * *

"I can't believe you're quitting! That is just so sad," Jasmine told her.

Elle wiped her eyes again. She had done nothing but cry for nearly three weeks, but she had made her decision. For what purpose was she continuing to work when she could barely make it through a song and the audience . . . The audience appeared to pick up on her moods; weeping with her or, oddly enough, having several fights break out. That was something that had never happened before.

"I told Brian that I'd come back whenever he needed someone to fill in, but until I can get my life straightened out, it will be better if I go," she said.

Her following, which had become rather substantial, had withered a bit in the last few of weeks. She didn't blame them. Who wanted to come and listen to a woman sing sad songs? Even the ones that weren't supposed to be sad seemed to end up sounding that way. She needed to go while Chez Donovan still had customers.

"Thanks for helping me pack up some of this stuff," Elle told her friend and backup singer. "I'll drop you off so you don't have to catch a cab."

Jasmine smiled. "Always happy to help," she said. "And you don't have to if it's out of your way."

"Nonsense," Elle assured her. "The least I can do is save you cab fare."

Elle shuffled the box of clothing onto her hip as she fished out her keys. The clothes were ones she kept in the dressing room for her performances. Jasmine carried her accessories and shoes. She opened the back of her new used car and placed the last of her items in.

She could have gotten a new one, but that would have meant touching the money in the account her father had set up for her. This way Elle could pay for the car out of money that she had earned herself, and buying used meant she could pay cash. It gave her a level of independence that she had previously lacked.

Elle adjusted her scarf. It was cold tonight, but still milder than it had been for several days. Balmy for this time of year this far north. She opened the passenger door for Jasmine because it tended to stick a little, and Elle recently learned the secret to it; lift the handle and bump it with your hip, and then lift up as you pull. Some people would have either chosen a different car or would have already taken it to the shop to get it fixed, but Elle kind of liked it. It gave the car character, she thought, and she loved the idea that only she could get it open easily . . . 'Easily' being a relative term. It could be a little difficult from the inside, but it just meant you needed to use your shoulder instead of your hip.

She ran around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. It still carried the slightest scent of cigarette smoke, but that would eventually go away. She put the key into the ignition and . . . Nothing happened. She frowned, and tried it again.

"What's wrong," Jasmine asked.

"It's not starting," Elle complained, as the third time failed as well.

"It never rains, but it pours, eh?"

"Sh! Next thing you know we'll be walking home in the rain," Elle warned her.

Jasmine laughed. "I'd have never pegged you as being superstitious!"

Elle pooh-poohed that idea. "I don't believe in superstitions, but I do believe in irony. And having it rain in the middle of my walk home after my car breaks down would definitely be ironic."

"We can call a cab, you know," Jasmine reminded her. It was nine-thirty at night. Not a good idea to walk home this late even in the decent part of town.

"I know, but the weather is supposed to take a turn for the worse in a couple of days. This might be our last chance to walk in reasonably mild temperatures." Elle loved to walk. It was one of the reasons she had waited so long to purchase a car. Also, it annoyed the hell out of her bodyguards which was always entertaining.

Or it would have annoyed the hell out of her bodyguards had they still been following her about day in and day out. But after her father had met Dick and approved of him, he had pulled the men back to Chicago. A lump rose up in her throat just thinking his name! Elle bit her lip and swallowed her tears. She would _**not**_ cry over him again this evening . . . At least not until she was in the privacy of her apartment anyway.

Her stuff couldn't be seen in the trunk, so she wasn't worried about anyone trying to steal it. The car didn't look like it was worth anything, and so it was likely no one would suspect there was anything of value in it. It was why she had chosen the eighteen year old Yugo in a rather festive aquamarine frost paint rather than something fresh off the lot. She would call someone to tow it to the garage tomorrow.

"Come on," Elle urged her. "You only live six blocks away compared to my eight. I'll buy you a cup of coffee or hot chocolate along the way to keep you warm."

Jasmine looked at her doubtfully even as she reluctantly gave in. "Okay, fine," she groused. "But you have to get your ass over here and open my door for me first. I bruise easily."

That got a small laugh out of her, and made Jasmine smiled happily. She opened the door, locked everything up tight, and threaded her arm through that of her ex-backup singer. They were wearing comfortable shoes and warm clothing; perfect for a walk home.

* * *

Four blocks and two cups of coffee between them later, Jasmine's nervous chatter had slowly died away. Elle usually kept up her end of the conversation, but just didn't have it in her tonight. She might have managed it had they driven, but walking took too long and she wasn't able to keep up the pretense for any length of time.

"You should totally stay the night," Jasmine was saying. "I can loan you some pajamas and we can stay up late eating my mother's peach pie and male bashing. It'll be fun!"

Jasmine's mother did make a mean peach pie, but Elle just wanted to soak in the tub and wallow in her misery in her own bed. She had chocolate ice cream and marshmallow cream topping, an electric blanket, and three brand-new boxes of tissues. She didn't think she'd be up for a good round of male bashing for another month or so despite Jasmine's assurances of its therapeutic value.

Voices in the alleyway they were passing had the two women glancing in curiously. What they saw made them gasp and dart past it. Someone was holding up an elderly couple! Elle and Jasmine paused, leaning up against the brick building.

"Oh my God! That poor, old couple," Jasmine moaned in an urgent whisper.

"Call 911," Elle ordered as she slid along the wall in order to glance back in.

Jasmine already had her cell phone in hand, but didn't dial the number because she was busy grabbing Elle's coat sleeve. "What the hell are you doing," she hissed.

Elle waved her away; pointing intently at the other woman's phone. She peeked around the corner. The old woman was moaning and clinging to her husband. The elderly man was trying his best to balance himself with his cane, support his wife, and pull out his wallet before the young tough got too impatient. The younger man waved his gun at them threateningly.

"Hurry up, old man, or I'll shoot your wife and beat you both to death with your cane," the young man growled at them. He looked in his early twenties, possibly Elle's age. "What's in the bag," he asked, pointing at the paper bag clutched in the woman's hand.

"That's just my medicine," the old man told him. "You don't want that."

The mugger grinned. "Oh, yeah, I do. Hand it over."

The woman protested. "No, my husband needs that for his heart! You can't get high on them. They could even kill you if you take them and don't have a heart condition!"

"Hand them over," the young man told her. "I can sell them. It don't matter what kind of pills they are; someone will be willing to pay for them."

Elle glanced behind her. Jasmine had walked away so she could speak to the 911 dispatcher without the mugger overhearing her. The police would never get here on time. She looked back to see the guy push the elderly woman down and yank the bag out of her hand. Her husband used his cane to whack the mugger on his back in a valiant effort to defend her. The young man jerked the cane out of the old man's hands and threw it behind him.

"You are going to regret that," he snarled at them.

He was going to kill them! Elle knew it in the very fiber of her being. He was going to shoot them. She glanced back at her friend, but Jasmine was turned away from her talking urgently into her phone, as if somehow she could speed the police by force of will alone. But the couple would be dead long before anyone could arrive.

The mugger's back was to her. She put her finger to her lips as she slid around the corner into the alley. She didn't want the couple to give her away. She eased down and picked up a metal trashcan lid from the ground. She didn't even realize people still used these anymore with all the plastic bins and dumpsters that were used nowadays. The old man saw her and shook his head but said nothing.

Elle threw the metal lid like a Frisbee and it clanged into the back of the guy's head. He staggered and the gun went off, but his aim went wide and the bullet struck the brick wall. She bent down quickly and picked up the cane. Running forward with a yell, she brought the heavy wooden cane down onto his hand; knocking the gun to the ground. She swung it again and hit the guy in the stomach, and again in the face. Blood splattered from his broken nose as he staggered backward under her attack.

She kicked the gun away as she helped the elderly woman up, and then the old man. She handed him his cane and pushed them toward the sidewalk.

"Go, go, go," she yelled. "Run, and don't look back!"

"You stupid cunt," the mugger screamed at her.

Elle spun around to see him lurch in the direction of his gun. Her breath caught. Everyone was still in danger of being shot! He was definitely angry enough to chase them down the street if he had to unless she could reach the gun first. He was closer, but he was hurt. Elle ran for the gun!

The man was reaching for it as Elle barreled into him, throwing him off balance. As he tried to catch himself, Elle kicked the gun under the heavy dumpster and out of his reach. She spun around to run when the mugger's grabbed a handful of her hair; nearly yanking her off of her feet.

She yelped in surprise. It probably should have hurt, but with the amount of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Elle didn't feel a thing; not even when he punched her in the face. She would have fallen, but he still had a hold of her hair and was keeping her upright by it. He hit her again, splitting her cheek below her left eye.

Elle's knees buckled, but her assailant wouldn't let her fall. He shook her violently, and Elle finally landed on her knees. Letting go of her hair, the man backhanded her across the face. She caught herself. When Elle glanced up, the mugger was swinging at her with a switchblade. She brought up her arm defensively, and the blade sliced through her coat and glanced off of her forearm. As he moved to stab at her again, Elle slammed her heel into his crotch. The man screamed and fell forward; landing on her.

She was struggling to shove him off when hands grabbed the guy's jacket and helped her to push him away. When her attacker attempted to climb to his feet, while clutching his crotch with one hand, her savior smacked him in the side of his head with a vaguely familiar looking cane. The mugger fell over, stunned.

Dazed, Elle looked up, blinking owlishly at the elderly man. He was standing over the young punk and brandishing his cane like a baseball bat.

"Are you all right, young lady," he asked her.

Her ears were ringing so loudly, he'd had to repeat himself before she understood. She nodded. Her voice seemed to have failed her at the moment. She rolled to her hands and knees, pausing as a wave of dizziness almost sent her down onto her face. Her eyes landed on the knife. It was only inches from the criminal's hand. She reached out and slapped it away.

Her palms were stinging now, and it was only then that she realized she had landed on a broken beer bottle at some point. There were embedded bits of glass in the cuts that decorated her palms, and there was blood dripping from her left hand that came from the gash on her arm.

As sound returned to her, Elle heard shrieking and yelling. She looked around and saw Jasmine, phone still in hand, kicking the downed mugger. Jasmine was yelling and it was the mugger who was shrieking. For some reason, Elle began to laugh. Everyone stared at her, but she couldn't stop laughing until abruptly she found herself sitting in the middle of the filthy alleyway sobbing hysterically.

By the time the police showed up with an ambulance, the elderly woman was patting Elle in a vain effort to sooth her while Jasmine and the old man stood guard over the defeated mugger. To their surprise, everyone in the alley was weeping, including the criminal.

When the two paramedics attempted to help Elle to stand up, she passed out. Thirty minutes later she awoke to find herself on her way to the emergency room. It was then that she discovered that the mugger had stabbed her when he had fallen on top of her. Although the wound was low and far enough to the side that no important organs had been injured, she had apparently lost a lot of blood.

Groaning, Elle closed her eyes. She wanted Dick, which only made fresh tears leak from the corners of her eyes. For some reason she was still unaware of, he no longer seemed to want _her_. When one of the paramedics asked her for an emergency contact number, her first thought was Dick's number. Instead, Elle took a shuddered breath and gave the man her father's emergency number; praying that she didn't wake up from this in her old bedroom in Chicago.

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**Where is Nightwing when you need him, Damn It! **


	32. The Song of Sirens

**Warning: Language . . . **

* * *

It took three weeks to contact Aquaman. In that time, Dick had taken to staying in Gotham and commuting to Bludhaven for work and patrols. He hadn't been back to see Elle in all that time, didn't take her calls, and only texted when he had to communicate. And it was making him sick . . . Physically sick!

After the first two weeks, Elle had stopped calling and no longer answered his texts. That was bad enough, but the past week he hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour or two a night, if that. The need to go to her had him shaking. It seemed to support his theory that Elle had somehow cast a spell over him or something. It took every ounce of will power he had to drive to Gotham instead of to her apartment. So it was with considerable relief when Bruce had sent him a text earlier that day that they would be meeting Arthur that evening.

Dick hoped that the Atlantian king had some idea what was going on and how to fix it. He was going a little out of his head, and the depression that was falling over him now made the one he had after his and Babs' breakup look like a fiesta in comparison. Bad enough, in fact, that the family had taken to checking on him several times a day, and as annoying as that was, he still appreciated it because there were times when the idea of stopping the world so he could get off looked incredibly appealing.

* * *

Aquaman was waiting for them at the zeta tubes when Batman and Nightwing stepped out.

"You've been hounding me for over a month, so this had better be good," Arthur said in way of greeting.

Batman placed a hand on Nightwing's shoulder, and nodded with his head toward an empty conference room.

"Privacy would be better," he said, pushing the younger, silent man in front of him.

Arthur Curry, otherwise known as Aquaman to the surface world and as King Orin to the kingdom of Atlantis, followed the two men. The door shut behind them. He was annoyed, but curiosity was quickly overwhelming that initial emotion as he watched the other two men sit down, grim-faced.

Of Batman, this was expected and accepted as normal, but Nightwing . . . Arthur knew the young man when he had been Robin, although he hadn't worked very closely with him for years; not since he took on the new personae as Nightwing. What he remembered of the boy, however, was his cheerfulness and optimism. He couldn't help but wonder about the man's presence or his serious demeanor.

He sat down at the head of the table; a habit that the years of being a king had given him. This put him closer to Nightwing. On closer inspection, he thought the younger man looked tired and not a little uncomfortable. Was he well?

It was with uncommon gentleness that he restated his earlier demand as a question. "What has happened," he asked.

At first no one spoke, and then Batman once again laid his hand on Nightwing's shoulder. So, Arthur thought, this concerns the boy . . . Or rather the young man.

Nightwing took a breath, blowing it out as if preparing himself for breaking bad news. "Aquaman," he began. "I asked Batman to contact you because I have met someone that you should know about. I also have a few questions that I am hoping you could answer for me . . . _Please_."

The please intrigued him. Robin had always been a polite child to the members of the Justice League, but this wasn't politeness, he determined, but rather an entreaty; a plea for assistance.

"I will do what I can," he said. "Perhaps you can enlighten me about this particular 'someone'."

"She is a woman I have met a few months ago." Nightwing started. He spoke with care, and seemed to be concentrating on regulating his breathing. The young man was struggling with something. "She told me an interesting tale; a family legend about a merman who impregnated her great grandmother after saving her from certain death after her ship went down at sea.

"Since then I have witnessed her diving five stories into a river and miraculously save a child's life against all odds. I've learned that she has a severe allergy to chlorine that result in blisters that can be shed when rinsed in pure filtered water, river or seawater. Her fingers are normal when she is dry, but when she becomes wet develops webbing between her fingers and toes."

Arthur blinked. This wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. He waved Nightwing to continue.

"But lately I've discovered that she can affect people with her voice. She instills a sense of honesty and sincerity when she speaks, but it is when she sings that one can see enormous changes in the moods, emotions, and attitudes of those who are present. I was hoping you could tell me more about her?"

Nightwing laid a cell phone on the table. He hit a button and slid it over to Aquaman. Arthur pulled it closer and looked down as a beautiful young woman began to sing. It took less than thirty seconds before he realized what he was hearing and leapt to his feet; knocking his chair over in the process. He swept the phone across the table and slapped his hands over his ears.

"_Turn it off_," Aquaman cried. "Quickly! Turn it off now!"

Both men jumped up, but Batman was faster; snatching up the device and turning it off. Aquaman swung around, furious.

"Where did you get that recording," he demanded.

Nightwing glanced at Batman before answering. "She sent it to me."

"_That_," he pointed at the phone still in Batman's hand, "is a _Siren_!"

"A what?" Nightwing blinked, confused.

"My God," Arthur exclaimed, gasping at the implications. "It is impossible! How can she even exist?"

Batman set the phone back onto the table. "I think we had better sit down and you tell us more about Sirens."

Arthur was shaken. Had he realized this . . . Well, he wouldn't have waited nearly so long to answer the Dark Knight's request. But how could he have possible predicted that his request was concerning a Siren? He picked up his chair and sat back down, striving for calm.

"A Siren is a race of Atlantian who is capable of bewitching others with song. They were one of the first Atlantians to learn the mystic arts and were among the most powerful; so much so that their kind was eventually banished to the outer reaches of the kingdom." Arthur told them. "Do you remember the stories of mermaids enchanting sailors with their songs and causing ships to wreck amongst the rocks?"

"You're saying that those tales weren't myths," Nightwing said. His shoulders slumped as he appeared to deflate with the news.

"Unfortunately, no," he said. "They can captivate with their voices, but it is in song that their power is truly felt. A Siren spell cannot be reversed except by another Siren. Even today with many Atlantians well versed in the mystic arts, there are still none capable of reversing a Siren's song unless the one who cast it or another, equally powerful, Siren releases the one bewitched."

Batman leaned forward. "And this woman is one of these creatures? Do you have any who might be able to release someone who has been caught in her spell?"

"Sirens are a dying breed," Arthur told them. "I only know of two that still live, and they are on the outskirts of my kingdom. I am not certain, if I can find them, that either would be willing to help."

"Can you not order them to, as their king?" Batman asked.

"I can try, but that doesn't mean that they will do it. You see, I am not immune myself to their magics. If either of them were to sing to me a refusal of sorts, I might walk away not remembering their existence. I might never find them again. Although," he looked thoughtful, "I might entice them with the knowledge of the existence of this woman. The Sirens that I speak of are male. There are no known female Sirens left in existence that I am aware of . . . Well, until now, apparently. That might be worth something to them."

Nightwing straightened suddenly. "What do you mean, '_worth something_'? Are you suggesting that we . . . _sacrifice_ this woman to these male Sirens for the sake of undoing whatever minor enchantment she might have unwittingly made?"

"Unwittingly?" Arthur leaned back in his chair. "I have never heard of a Siren unwittingly enchanting someone before."

"Nightwing . . ." Batman said warningly.

"_No_!" Nightwing glanced over at his mentor and then returned his gaze to Aquaman. "If you are saying that you want to just '_give_' her over to these strange men without her consent, then _no_! Forget it!"

"It might not be without her consent," Batman told him. "She might _want_ to meet others of her kind; particularly if they are indeed a dying breed."

Nightwing jerked his arm away from the older man's grip. "Toward what purpose? Perpetuating the species? Creating more of a race that apparently all Atlantians' scorn? How could she possibly want that?" He slammed both hands down onto the table and stood up. "_No_! I won't allow it!"

"Nightwing, sit down," Batman growled.

"Fuck off, Bruce," Nightwing shoved his chair back and moved away from the table.

"_Nightwing_! No names," Batman raised his voice.

"Like Arthur Curry doesn't know your secret identity, or mine, for that matter," Nightwing scoffed. "Don't change the subject! Or better yet, let's do! Elle is off limits. I've changed my mind. I don't care if she put a spell on me to make me love her or not! I will not pimp her out to a couple of strange men for the vain hope that I might be cured or whatever the hell you call it! What if it _isn't_ a spell, Bruce? What if I just _love_ her?"

"This was _your_ idea. You are the one that said you couldn't stand not knowing," Batman growled standing up as well. "You said you hate the idea that she might be manipulating you. What else could it be when these last few weeks of avoiding her has made you ill? Don't think I haven't noticed that you don't sleep anymore; that you hardly eat! Whatever depression you had after Barbara, this is a hundred times worse! You are sick and you don't even know it! That sounds exactly like a spell to me."

Nightwing shook his head. "I won't do it. I can't do it, Bruce! You're right, though. Being away from her is making me crazy . . . I don't know why I even questioned it. I am _happy _with her!"

"Are you? Or is it just an illusion," Batman reminded him. "How do you know she loves you in return?"

Nightwing mouth tightened. When he spoke again it was quietly; calmly. "Because I can see it in her eyes. I can feel it in her touch. I can hear it in her voice, but it isn't in what she says so much as what she does. She cares, Bruce. She's sweet and funny and takes care of me when I'm sick and worries about me on my job. She's a good person! Hell, she didn't even know she was anything other than a regular, normal surface dweller that happens to have a great voice and loves to swim. She doesn't hurt people. You _know_ that. She helps them. And if she wants me to love her, then I'm more than happy to do just that."

Nightwing turned to Aquaman. The Atlantian was sitting quietly in his chair listening and watching him spout romantic platitudes with a passion that made him a shoo-in for the male lead in Nicholas Sparks' next movie.

"I was mistaken, your highness," he told the man. "I apologize for wasting your time. There is no problem here."

Nightwing started toward the door when Arthur called out to him. "She loves you, too? You are certain of that, are you?"

He paused with his back to the room. Without turning around Nightwing answered him. "I am. I was only confused about my own emotions, apparently. That is no longer the case."

"There is something else you might want to know about Sirens then . . . before you go," Arthur told him cryptically.

Sighing, Nightwing looked back over his shoulder. "You won't talk me out of this, you know. And I won't let you take her to meet the last of her kind, either."

Arthur shook his head. "No, it isn't about that, although I confess to being curious about her. This is something else that I suspect you both should know about based upon what I've gleaned from this little outburst."

Nightwing was silent, but he didn't leave. Batman turned back to the table, picking up his and his son's chairs from where they had overturned. He sat down without a word, and glanced at his son's back.

Arthur looked from one to the other. It made him wonder briefly about these two men's personal relationship. He knew their identities, but he didn't really know much about either of them outside of the costumes. Bruce Wayne was a business man and a billionaire. Nightwing was Robin all grown-up and his name was Dick Grayson. He knew that when the boy was young, he had been Bruce's ward, whatever the hell that meant, but now that he watched their personal dynamics and really considered what he had witnessed on occasion between them years ago . . . Maybe ward was just another name for son.

After a moment, Nightwing . . . Dick moved back over to the table and sat in his chair without looking at the man he arrived with. Arthur winced. The temperature in the room had plunged several degrees compared to what he had experienced when they had first arrived. He felt a twinge of guilt for that, although he knew that he wasn't exactly culpable for it. Perhaps, this last bit of information would do its part to heal what Arthur suspected now was a father/son relationship. He would need to go back to Atlantis and confirm it all, what else he remembered from stories and legends about Sirens, but it certainly made sense based upon what he had just witnessed.

"I'd like the opportunity to double-check my facts, mind you, but from what I just heard I think I am remembering this correctly," Arthur said as an opening. "Sirens are renowned for monogamy. Oddly enough, all considering, but it is because they only mate once for life. They meet what has sometimes been described as a soul mate. This person, usually one of their own race, but not necessarily so, meets the other and a bond develops; an emotional and physical bond. It is permanent for the Siren; kind of a forever thing, you understand."

Well, he had both men's attention now. They were staring at him intently, almost as if he had suddenly grown two heads.

"They don't do well without the other. I heard that it can cause stress, sleeplessness, sickness, and in some cases, death."

Batman leaned forward; one arm coming to rest on the table. He was frowning; obviously worried about his son.

"Are you saying that if Nightwing chooses to not return to this relationship that he could die?"

"No, that isn't exactly what I am telling you," Arthur shook his head. He was silent a moment; searching his memory for anything contradicting what he thought he knew. When nothing else appeared to cause him to doubt his knowledge, he continued, clarifying. "Although I suppose it might be possible that he could sicken to the point of death without her, I believe it goes that the member of the other race, that would be you, if you are indeed truly bonded with this woman, would eventually recover, and in some rare cases go on to remarry if he or she so wished, but the Siren that is bonded would indeed sicken and die without his or her bond mate. Sometimes, the Siren wouldn't even last that long, but would choose to take his or her own life."

Was it the lighting or did Nightwing just blanch.

"Two Sirens that have bonded," and of this he was sure, "often would die together; the one left behind following the first into the afterlife. Like I said, this isn't necessarily the case when one bond mate is other than a Siren," Arthur said slowly.

"There may be more to this than I can remember," Arthur said apologetically. "I learned all of this years and years ago. And as I have not ever personally dealt with a Siren, I am pretty sure I haven't retained everything there is to know about them."

Nightwing nodded, absently. He looked a little dazed. Even Batman appeared a bit taken aback by what they had learned.

"Um, would all of this be relevant to a person that is only part Siren," Nightwing asked hesitantly. "Elle, uh, that's her name; Elle and her mother both had human fathers. She is only maybe one/eighth Siren. Her mother died when she was seven and her human father never told her anything about her heritage until recently, and of that, not much."

Arthur pursed his lips as he considered that. "I don't know. But you said she has certain qualities that are Siren, so it is possible that a serious separation might not, or might still, lead to her death. You are having troubles after being apart from her so long, I think it is safe to say that she would easily have as many, if not more, of those troubles herself. I doubt being so ignorant of her kind as she seems to be that she'll understand what has been happening to her. I would suggest that if you love her as you claim; you contact her with that information as soon as you can."

"I think . . . Yes, I think that maybe that would be a good idea." Nightwing nodded.

"Only one/eighth Siren, you said?" At Nightwing's nod, Arthur held out his hand. "Might I see that recording again?"

Nightwing took the cell phone back from Batman and brought up the video. He hadn't listened to it since he showed it to Bruce three weeks before. He didn't count the few seconds it had played for Aquaman. He pressed play, but hesitated in sliding it to Arthur.

Elle appeared on the screen giving directions to the person recording it for her. He watched her pick up the ukulele and start strumming. He smiled, the constant tension in his chest easing slightly. And then she sang and he relaxed for the first time in three weeks. She sang for him and suddenly all was right with the world again.

After a minute, he remembered Arthur's request and he slid the phone toward him. The king of Atlantis picked the phone up this time and watched the video with interest. At the last note, he saw her motion for the video to end, but it did not end right away. Arthur watched the young Siren, of this he had no doubt, turn to the musicians behind her and raise her arms joyfully into the air and shout, "I'm so in love!". There was laughter and then the screen finally went blank.

He slid the cell phone back to Nightwing, and smiled at the man. "You are very lucky, I think. She seems completely guileless and mostly human. Now, that I have actually heard her voice, I'm not certain that she has the capability of casting a spell, at least not without some kind of instruction anyway. What I witnessed was the projection of her own emotions through her voice. The lightness of being and loving feelings that you get from listening to her sing are merely what she feels for the person she is singing to." Arthur looked closely at the younger man. "I assume that the person she was singing to was _you_?"

A pained look crossed Nightwing's face at his remark. "Yes." The word came out as barely a whisper.

"I believe I can safely say that she hasn't placed you under a spell, although I heavily suspect you are in the midst of a potential bonding. I hope this is the news that you were hoping to hear. If it is not, then it might still be early enough that you can head it off. I cannot be sure the same would be the case for her, but the option may still remain if you do not wish this for yourself." Arthur stuck out his hand to the younger man. It had been a long time since Arthur had the opportunity to use the surface-dweller's gesture of shaking hands.

Nightwing stood and shook his hand. "Thank you for coming and answering our questions."

Arthur stood as well. "You are most welcome, Nightwing. I wish you the best of luck. I think I would enjoy an introduction to this young woman at some point. I will leave you with this." He handed Nightwing a small shell.

Nightwing frowned at the shell, holding it in his open palm.

"Believe it or not, it is a communicator," he said, laughing. "It will guarantee that you can reach me if you have more questions later. I will go back to Atlantis and research what I can find about Sirens in the meantime."

Nightwing smiled, closing the shell in his hand. "Whatever you can find in your books will be plenty. Let's not mention Elle to those male Sirens, however, if you don't mind."

"The brothers?" Aquaman grinned. "I won't search them out without an express request."

Batman and Aquaman shook hands. "Thank you, Aquaman, for your time."

"A pleasure for once, Batman," Aquaman nodded. "And I think you both still have time to go home and patrol, do you not?"

* * *

It was ten-twenty p.m. A late start perhaps, but still most of the night left. Batman wasn't sure if Nightwing wanted to stay the night now or not. He turned to ask his son what his plans were when he saw Nightwing stagger; catching himself against the wall.

"Nightwing!" Batman ran to his side; grabbing the younger man's arm before he slid down to the floor. "What's wrong?"

Nightwing was gasping. He turned desperate eyes to his father. "Elle! I need to get to Elle! Something's wrong!"

Aquaman was there suddenly; pulling Nightwing's other arm over his shoulder. He gave him a knowing look. "Then let's not keep her waiting!"

The three men took off at a run; Nightwing struggling to keep his feet despite the support of the two other heroes. He felt her despair, her fear, and her pain. Something or someone was hurting her!

* * *

**REACTIONS? C'mon, you had to see this coming, right? Or did I surprise you?**

**Ah, now this explains everything! Now, hurry back, Dick . . . She needs you!**


	33. From Here To There

"Are you feeling better now," Bruce asked.

"Not by much," Dick growled.

He had changed back into his civvies as soon as they zeta'd back to the Batcave. Bruce loaned clothes to Arthur who had decided to join them when Dick nearly collapsed under the impression that Elle was in some kind of danger. But there wasn't a way to explain why three superheroes suddenly swooped down to this particular woman's rescue, so they had paused only to change before they headed out to Bludhaven.

"Do you still believe she needs help," Arthur asked as they piled into one of Bruce's sports cars.

"Yes," Dick answered tightly. "I can't explain it. It's like this feeling that has been plaguing me for the past couple of weeks, but multiplied by a hundred."

Arthur nodded; accepting his vague description as fact.

The car was built for speed, but even it didn't compare to the Batmobile. Too bad there wasn't a plausible reason for the billionaire to drive it. When someone needed help in their civilian personae, it was a bitch that they were limited in what they could do in response to what the average Joe could do. Although they could commandeer Wayne Enterprises' helicopter, it would take just as long to arrange it as it would to just use the Jaguar.

Arthur didn't look especially happy to squeeze himself into the backseat of the sports coupe. If you weren't well over six feet in height, the leg room wasn't half bad, but Aquaman was forced to sit sideways if he didn't want a quick lesson in contortionism.

Although Dick was the shortest of the three, he refused to be confined. He wanted to be the first out as soon as the Jag stopped. Tonight was Friday. It was one of Elle's nights to sing, so the club was where they were heading. He wondered if the sudden fear and pain he had felt meant that some overzealous fanboy tried to force himself on her. He ground his jaw in frustration. Hadn't Donovan promised to hire more bouncers?

Arthur had tried to reassure him that even at one/eighth Atlantian, Elle was likely stronger than the average woman; maybe even as strong as an average male. Dick wasn't nearly so optimistic. Her reflexes and speed were on par with the average woman that he could see while on land, but he admitted that in the water, she was anything but average.

* * *

It took far too long before Bruce found parking near Chez Donovan's. Igor was out front, but he frowned at Dick as he bounded for the door, Bruce and Arthur behind him.

"You're wasting your time," the behemoth growled at him.

Dick ignored him and pushed into the club entrance. Shannon was working tonight. She also sent him a frown, coming around the counter to meet him. Dick went straight to the doorway leading into the club and stared. What was Randi doing on stage? Where was Elle?

"She's not here," Shannon grabbed his arm. "You need to leave, now, before Brian sees you."

"Where is she," Dick turned on her; urgency in his voice. "I need to find her!"

Shannon stood her ground. "I don't know what went on between you two, but I think it would better for everyone if you just left her alone. You've hurt her enough."

"I didn't stop texting her; she stopped texting me," Dick stated in his defense, but the guilt was already navel-deep and getting deeper.

"Texting? Seriously? You never even gave her a reason why you stopped taking her calls; stopped coming around, stopped _everything_!" Shannon poked him in the chest. "We all told her to stop 'texting' you long before she agreed."

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted when a hand spun him around and a fist slammed into his face.

"You are not welcome here anymore, Mr. Grayson," Brian Donovan snarled at him. Dick stumbled back into Arthur as Bruce stepped in front of his son.

"I _told_ you not to hurt her," Brian continued advancing until Bruce's hands came up to restrain him. "I _warned_ you that she was an innocent. She had no experience with playboys' sons who think nothing of getting they way and then dumping the poor girl by the wayside without even a goodbye."

Dick wiped at the trickle of blood from his split lip. "It wasn't like that, Mr. Donovan! I didn't take advantage of Elle. She overreacted when I was called away." He stood in front of Brian and carefully pushed Bruce aside. "Where is she? I need to find her. Is she home?"

A buzzing stopped Donovan from answering him. He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and glanced down at it. "I need to take this. You and your father can leave." He glanced at Arthur. "You, too, if you're with them."

Donovan stepped away and put the phone to his ear.

Shannon came over and pulled Dick aside. "She quit a couple of days ago," the hostess told him. "She and Jasmine, one of the backup singers, were here earlier to pick up her things from the dressing room."

"She _quit_?" Dick gaped at the pretty hostess. "But music is her life! She would never just up and quit. Did her father have anything to do with this?"

Dick knew that Cedric Hamilton had been pressuring Elle to come back to Chicago, but he had been under the impression that the man was going to back off since he recently approved of their relationship.

"What the hell? When?" Donovan's voice rose in surprise. He was still on the phone. "Where are they taking her? Right! Stay with her, Jasmine, until I can get there! You need to call her father. No, I don't know his number; get it from her phone. No, don't call _him_. She's better off without that _dick_!" Donovan's eyes flicked over to the three men. "I'll meet you there, Jasmine. I'm on my way!"

Dick grabbed his arm. "What's going on?" That sounded serious, and if Jasmine was with Elle . . . He had a bad feeling about this.

Donovan looked at Shannon. "You need to tell Morris and Frank that I'm going out. I don't know if I'll be back tonight. Have Frank handle the closing."

"What? Wait," Dick spun the man around; grabbing his lapel. "Where are you going?"

"Back off, Mr. Grayson. She doesn't need more stress right now. She needs her friends; the people who care about her." Donovan held onto Dick's wrist, but couldn't get the man to let go.

"I care about her," Dick snarled. "Where is she?"

Donovan blew him off, and stalked out the door. When Dick tried to follow him, Igor stood blocking his way.

"Your boss told us to leave," Dick told him. If they were fast enough they could follow Donovan to Elle.

Igor shook his head. "You can leave after Mr. Donovan drives away."

Shannon came over and took Dick by the arm. He started to resist her, but Igor wasn't going to let him go without a fight; something he really couldn't do a Dick Grayson.

"Do you really have a reason why you've been avoiding her," she asked. Unlike many of restaurant's employees, Shannon knew he was also a cop. "Work related?"

Dick nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie, but neither was it police business, so he kept his mouth shut and let the hostess assume what she would. It wasn't a good excuse, but he knew he would be able to get more information from Shannon if he could get her to forgive him.

"Look, I know Elle doesn't have a lot of experience with men, and it's possible that she overreacted considering what you do for a living, but you can't do this to her again; just disappearing and keeping things from her," Shannon pleaded with him.

"When I told you she was taking this hard, I meant that she can't even function anymore. It's making her ill. If you think for even an instant that this might happen again, then you need to let her go. I can't even imagine how much worse this could be if she forgave you and another _misunderstanding_ happened again."

"Shannon, I need to find her. Is she home or did she go back to Chicago tonight?"

"She said that she was taking her stuff home," Shannon admitted. "She didn't specify whether it was here or Chicago, but I assumed it was her apartment. I doubt she would begin a trip back to Chicago this late."

"Right," Dick gave her a fleeting smile and squeezed her hand in gratitude. "I'll try there first."

"Dick?"

He turned back.

"If you hurt her again," Shannon told him, "it won't be just Mr. Donovan who punches you in the face."

Dick nodded. "Duly noted."

* * *

"Don't let them do anything until I get there!"

"Mr. Hamilton, I can't tell them that!" Jasmine gaped at Elle's cell phone. "And I don't think that they would listen to me, anyway."

"Damn it! Just don't allow them to give her any blood yet; not without my approval. Where is Grayson? Why isn't he there?"

Oh, shit! Elle didn't tell daddy that she and Dick had been on the outs? Was she supposed to do it?

"Um, he's not here right now. I haven't been able to contact him yet," she lied. "But Dick wouldn't be able to make decisions for her any more than I can."

"_Find him_, Ms. Daley. It's imperative. I should be there in another 30 minutes."

Jasmine hung up. She should have told him. How was she going to get Elle's old boyfriend to the hospital? What if he refused? Or took one look at Elle's number and didn't pick up. He hadn't picked up any of her calls in the past several weeks, so why would he start now? Maybe if she called him on her own cell phone? He might pick up if he didn't recognize the number.

She scrolled through Elle's contacts praying that she hadn't deleted Dick's number in a fit of pique. _Oh my God, he isn't in here_! He wasn't under the D's or the G's . . .

She glanced at the ambulance driver. "What's Dick short for?" God, certainly his mother hadn't given him that name!

The driver glanced back at her and laughed. "Prick?"

She gave him a look. "Seriously?"

He looked abashed, and then cleared his throat. "Um, I don't know. Maybe Richard? You know, like Rick is?"

"That's stupid! How the hell do you get Dick from Richard?" Jasmine grumbled, scrolling through Elle's list to the R's.

"Same way you get Bob from Robert or Billy from William?" He pursed his lips and shrugged.

"_Gah_! What is wrong with people," she muttered. Richard Sawyer; Richard Whitley, but no Richard Grayson! Elle deleted him! What was she supposed to do now?

She continued scrolling for no other reason than she didn't know what else to do when something caught her eye. Jasmine stopped and scrolled back slowly.

_Oh, girl, you didn't_ . . . Jasmine grinned, despite the situation. She hit the entry entitled '_Sweet Cheeks_'.

Taking a risk because if this was the wrong number, she was going to be so embarrassed; Jasmine hit call. If it was the right number, but Dick didn't pick up, she would try again on her own phone.

It was ringing.

"_Elle_! Elle, is that you? Oh, God, baby, are you all right? Talk to me!" Dick's voice came through the phone after just one ring. He sounded frantic!

Well, good! That asshole should sound frantic after the hell he put Elle through, Jasmine groused in her head. She wouldn't even be calling him if Elle's dad hadn't insisted.

"This is Jasmine, Dick."

"Jas? What are you doing with Elle's phone? Is she all right?" The fear came through the phone easily.

"How did you know something was wrong?" Brian had told her to not call Dick, so who could have told him?

"I've been trying to call her for the last hour. She wouldn't pick up, so I assumed something was wrong." He told her.

"She had her phone off." Jasmine explained. She knew Elle had been avoiding her father for a couple of weeks; maybe to avoid telling the man about her break up?

"Are you at her apartment?" Dick asked.

"No, we're still in the ambulance," Jasmine admitted.

"Wait! What? You're going to the _hospital_? Which hospital? What happened?" The fear was back in his voice.

"It was crazy. We were walking home from Donovan's when we interrupted a mugging. We're on our way to Mercy General Hospital." She heard him relay the information to someone else.

"We should be there in . . ." Jasmine looked to the driver for confirmation. "How long until we get there?"

"Another three minutes," the driver told her.

"Three minutes," she repeated. "Listen, Dick, I called Elle's father and he requested that you be there. I know you two are on the outs, but do you think you could show up? Just for a little while? Elle's hurt and scared, and she really misses you. Please? I think it would help her get through this to know you are there."

"What? Of course I'll be there! I'm on my way now. And we didn't break up, Jasmine. We've just had a misunderstanding. I went to the club to talk to her and clear things up when I think you must have called Brian." Dick told her. "But he left without telling me what was going on."

"Yeah, well, you aren't on Brian's list of favorite people right now," Jasmine told him sarcastically. She sobered. "Dick, Elle believes you don't care about her anymore. I know you two have only been going out for a short time, but she is taking this so hard it's scary. Look, we're going to be arriving in just a minute so just get yourself here ASAP, okay? Mr. Hamilton is flying in and will be here in another twenty minutes or so."

"Is she hurt bad, Jas? How is she really?"

"It's bad, Dick. You need to hurry. Mr. Hamilton has given me crazy instructions and the doctors aren't going to listen to me, and honestly, I don't think they _should_! I need you here to either back me up or to tell me to shut up because I don't know what to do!"

The ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance. The doors to the back opened and suddenly the driver was out the door; helping the paramedics to unload their patient.

"We're here," Jasmine told him, hurrying to catch up. "I've got to go. Please, hurry, Dick! She needs you. Don't let her down."


	34. Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Dick ran into the emergency room waiting area, Bruce and Arthur on his heels. As he stopped at the desk, he could hear yelling behind the closed door that led into the treatment area.

"I'm here for Arabella Hamilton. She was brought in," Dick glanced at his watch, "about 10 minutes ago. Mugging victim," he clarified.

The woman behind the desk looked up sympathetically. "Are you a relative?"

_Lie_ . . . That was the first thought that went through his head. Elle needed him; he knew this in his bones, although he had no clue as to how he could help her.

"Uh, she's . . . um," Dick looked over his shoulder at his father; panic in his eyes. _What do I tell her_? "I'm her . . . uh . . ."

"Fiancé," Bruce interjected smoothly.

Dick's eyebrows rose up to meet his hairline, but he didn't contradict the man. He'd say anything to get back there to her. He smiled a wobbly smile at the receptionist. "Yeah," he said, "that. I'm her fiancé."

She stared at him for a moment, like she might challenge him to prove it or something, but in the end she nodded. "Okay. She already had a couple of people back there with her, but a fiancé takes precedent over boss and friend. Just send the other two out when you get back there." She looked over Dick's shoulder at the other two men. "You both can have a seat."

Dick thanked her and turned to go through the doors when an elderly man called out to him.

"Excuse me. You said you were the fiancé to the woman who was mugged?" The man leaned heavily on his cane. An elderly woman, obviously his wife, stood nervously behind him.

Was that streaks of blood on that cane? Dick flicked his gaze back to the old man. "Yes, that's right. I don't believe we've met before . . ." he said, holding his hand out.

"Günter Lohmann; this is my wife, Trudy. Your fiancé saved our lives tonight when she intervened on our behalf. We cannot begin to express our gratitude," the elderly man said with a strong Germanic accent.

Dick blinked. That's right! Jasmine told him that they had _interrupted_ a mugging. He had thought it was accidental, but according to this man, Günter, Elle purposely interfered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . ." Dick began hesitantly. "Jasmine, um, she was with Elle apparently when this happened, told me only very little."

Trudy smiled, nodding. "Oh yes, Günter," she said. "That was the young woman who helped you keep that nasty man subdued until the officers had arrived." She turned to Dick. "She was quite wonderful."

"Nice young woman," Günter agreed. "But truly, it was your woman, Elle? She swooped like an avenging angel to help us escape. The man would have murdered us for certain."

"As soon as we learned where they were bringing her, we came. It was the least we could do. But they will not tell us anything, and we feel so responsible. She would not have been hurt had she not come to our rescue, you understand," Trudy told him as she patted his hand.

"We were hoping that you might let us know how she fares," Günter slipped his arm around his wife.

Dick looked back and forth between them. They were looking at him so hopefully. "I'll do my best," he promised vaguely.

At the moment, he wasn't so sure that he would be allowed to stay with her, let alone be given any information as a mere fiancée. Perhaps Bruce should have told the receptionist he was her husband. Of course, if Brian was back there, it might all be moot. He would surely tell them the truth the minute Dick showed his face.

Günter smiled at Bruce and Arthur. "She is a very brave girl, indeed. Are you relatives of Elle as well?"

"Uh, this is my father, Bruce, and . . . Elle's . . . Um, Uncle Arthur." Dick improvised.

"A pleasure, to be sure," Trudy patted each man's hand in turn.

"If you'll excuse me . . ." Dick didn't wait any longer. He moved quickly through the swinging doors.

* * *

The yelling was louder now. Dick followed it. He recognized Jasmine's and Brian's voices. He rounded the hall to find the two of them arguing with the doctor. Jasmine was holding her phone in the air.

"I'm telling you that she is going into hypovolemic shock, even as we speak," the African-American doctor was telling them. "She's lost too much blood already. We can't wait! Do you understand me? She could die without a blood transfusion!"

Jasmine waved the phone in his face. "Her father is on his way. He's the one that said to wait. He insists that a blood transfusion could kill her if you don't use the right blood!"

The doctor was shaking his head. "Nonsense! We test the blood first, but even so, she should be able to take O negative blood without a reaction. It is considered to be the universal blood type and most can take it safely."

"Jasmine!" Brian was running his hands through his hair. "We don't have a choice."

Jasmine eyes landed on Dick. The relief she felt was obvious. "Dick! Thank God you're here! Please, you have to help her."

Brian growled and stepped up as if to block him. "What are you doing here? I told you she doesn't need you anymore!"

Dick put his hand on Brian's shoulder and pushed him out of his way. "Don't be stupid," he told him. "I am Arabella's fiancé," he told the doctor.

"What?!" Brian choked out. "That's a lie!"

Jasmine's eyes widened, but she didn't contradict him. "Uh, no, it's not," she said, praying that she wouldn't be struck by lightning for lying. "He's right. Dick is her fiancé." She nodded for emphasis.

Brian goggled at her. "How can you say that?"

Jasmine put hands up in an effort to calm the man. "It's true. Mr. Hamilton knows about it as well." _God help her_!

"Then that just makes what you've done a thousand times worse in my book, Grayson," Brian snarled.

"There are only two people allowed back here with the patient at a time," the doctor said. "Someone needs to leave.

Dick looked at Brian. "That would be you."

Brian stormed back down the hall towards the waiting room, and Dick turned back to the doctor. He glanced at the man's hospital ID tag.

"Uh, Dr. Carter? I'm sorry for that." Dick put out his hand. "I'm Dick Grayson, Arabella's fiancé," he reminded the man again. "May I see her, please."

"Of course, but we need a plan of action. She's already anxious and confused which are early symptoms of shock. If we wait, Miss Hamilton could fall into respiratory or cardiac arrest. Her body's fluid is down nearly twenty percent, and unless we can replace it soon, she will begin experiencing massive organ shut down." Dr. Carter pulled back the curtain.

Dick rushed to Elle's side, desperate after three weeks without her to see her; touch her. He picked up her bandaged hand carefully and leaned over her. It was as if someone had suddenly lifted ten tons of weight off of his chest. He took the first deep breath he had had in weeks. He frowned. She looked ill and he thought that she lost some weight. Was this part of the blood loss or was she actually suffering from their separation as much as he was? Perhaps she, even more than he, from the looks of it.

As if she sensed him, Elle's eyes fluttered open and she turned her head in his direction. Her lovely brown eyes struggled to remain focused on him, but the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth eased and she smiled at him.

"Dick," she whispered. "You came back?"

"I'm sorry, Elle," his eyes welled up. "I'm so sorry. I love you, baby, and I'm never leaving you again."

She smiled at his words; her hand pulling out of his so she could touch his face. "I love you more," she told him, teasingly.

Her face, already pale, suddenly lost even more color and her breathing increased dramatically; becoming pants as she started hyperventilating.

"Elle?" Dick cupped her face, and was surprised how cold and damp her skin felt. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she lost consciousness. "Doctor!"

The doctor was there before he finished speaking. He flashed a light into her eyes, as a nurse pushed Dick out of the way. The doctor started listening to her heart as the nurse took Elle's blood pressure.

"75 over 40," the nurse reported, "and dropping."

"This is ridiculous. Bring me two pints of O negative blood, stat!" Carter barked. "Mr. Grayson, I need you to step out, now."

"Elle? Oh, no! No, no, no, no," Dick moaned. _This wasn't happening_!

The nurse ran past him, and Carter put his hands on Dick's shoulders, pushing him gently but inexorably out of the treatment room. Dick's eyes were only for the woman on the table.

How could this happen? He had just foolishly wasted three weeks avoiding her, only to have her taken from him the moment he was prepared to come back; ready to beg her forgiveness. If he hadn't panicked, this would _never_ have happened! He would have been here to escort her home, either as himself or secretly as Nightwing. He would have been there to save the elderly couple and Elle never would have had to endanger herself to help them!

_This was his fault_! _All of it, his fault_ . . .

The terror inside of him felt like acid; the pain he felt in his chest was like a sledgehammer. Was this what Aquaman had been describing? The bonding?

"Mr. Grayson, _please_. You will only be in the way here," the doctor was telling him. "Step out, sir. We will do everything in our power to save her, I promise, but you need to go _now_."

"_No_! He stays!" The voice was familiar, but weak than Dick remembered.

He and the doctor turned to see Lazlo pushing Cedric Hamilton into the ER in a wheelchair. The man had lost a lot of weight. No longer was he the intimidating man that had limped into Wayne Manor but weeks ago.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't be here right now," Carter told him. Raising his voice, he called for some assistance. "Would someone escort these people to the waiting room?"

"Arabella is my daughter, and if you don't want to kill her you _will_ listen to me," Cedric told him. It was enough to make Carter pause. Cedric pointed at Dick and said, "His blood is compatible with Arabella's. If you do a blood transfusion on her, you must use _his_ blood and only his blood."

Carter frowned, glancing back and forth between the two men. "She is going to need more than Mr. Grayson can spare. But we can take a pint from him to begin with and that will get her out of the immediate danger zone. But we'll need to supplement it with some blood we have in our banks. O negative . . ."

"_No_, no O negative blood. Only what you can get from Mr. Grayson," Cedric insisted.

"Surely their blood type isn't _that_ rare," Carter argued.

"My blood type is A positive," Dick said.

"We have A positive. That isn't rare at all," Carter grinned. "We have an ample supply on hand."

"_No_, only Richard Grayson's blood will do," Cedric snarled. "Not even A positive from other people will work."

Dick narrowed his eyes. He stepped over and leaned down to speak to the older man. "What's going on here? Why are you insisting that she only have my blood? She needs more than they will allow me to give her."

"Then that is all she will have," Cedric said. "You two have begun the bonding process." He tilted his head and asked Dick bluntly. "Have you slept with her yet?"

Dick's mouth dropped open and he stood up straight abruptly. "What is this obsession you have with our sex life? Is that _all_ you can ask me? Not that it's any of your damned business, you realize!"

Cedric caught a handful of Dick's jacket and tugged him down. "For your information, that will complete the process and make the two of you fully bonded mates! It makes a huge difference! Bonded mates can share blood with no ill effects. Still, even if you haven't slept with her, you have bonded enough emotionally I think to be able to save her now. I would have given her my blood, as I am her father, but my blood is now contaminated by my illness. It would likely do more harm than good. But you . . . _You_ are the only one capable of helping her now outside of her grandmother or perhaps maybe an Atlantian. Unfortunately, her grandmother is in Italy and there aren't any available Atlantians in Bludhaven."

Dick blinked, and looked down the hall in the direction of the waiting room. Arthur Curry was King Orin of Atlantis! He was at least half Atlantian!

"Would a half Atlantian do?" Dick whispered.

"Better than whatever garbage the doc over there had planned to give her," Cedric said. "Yours is better, but if she has to have more than that, a half Atlantian would be better than nothing. I'm hoping that it will, at least. She doesn't have a choice."

"There's a large, blond man sitting beside Bruce in the waiting room. I told the receptionist he was her Uncle Arthur, but he is half Atlantian. I had gone to him to ask questions about her heritage when all of this started. Go, tell him who you are and what Elle needs. Ask him if he would be willing to do this as a favor to me."

Dick spun around. He started stripping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. He thrust his arm out to Dr. Carter. "Here," he said. "Take whatever you possibly can from me. Elle's uncle is in the waiting room and capable of giving her blood. He might be willing to donate a pint to her as well. Will that do?"

Instead of answering him directly, Carter started snapping orders. "I need the equipment to do two direct, person-to-person transfusions, stat!" He looked over his shoulder as he pushed Dick back into the room. "Get her uncle back here immediately!"

* * *

**REACTIONS, PLEASE! **

**If I know you are interested in the story, it gives me incentive to continue writing it for you. If you like it, please favorite it . . . There is so much more story to tell. More fun and more excitement and soon enough it will get a little bit dark as well.**

**I thought it only fair to warn you that person to person transfusions are pretty much all fiction. There is a lot that goes into taking blood from one person and safely giving it to another. Also, the likelihood of taking blood from one person and sending it into the body of another is pretty slim as well. In reality, the blood would be taken into a bag and tested. It is then decided how much of it will be given: just plasma or platelets or RBCs (red blood cells), seldom whole blood unless it had been taken from the person needing it and stored to be used for later. Once it had been determined what is going to be used, the blood would be administered through a gravity-assisted IV line. But since this is Fiction; I get to do what I want . . .**

**So, when you watch TV or a movie, and you see someone having to do a direct person-to-person blood transfusion, know that in reality (if it worked. Air in the line would likely prevent blood from reaching the other person), they just killed the person they were trying to save. Bummer! But it should make you realize how grateful we all should be for the American Red Cross and hospital technicians who save our lives by collecting, testing, and storing blood every day. Or to the corresponding establishment in your own country. ;D**


	35. Pissed

She had dreamed of him again. It had been so realistic that she didn't want to wake up. In the dream, she heard his voice . . . While one kind of pain still continued; another was lifted. She still hurt, but it was different now. One had been in her heart, but the one remaining was in her side, and it was nagging at her; pulling her from unconsciousness. What . . .?

Then it came to her . . . The elderly couple; the mugging; the knife; the violence. She remembered seeing the love the two people had had for one another and being envious of it. She had become desperate to save it despite her recent apathy for life. Love and life had gotten too complicated anymore, and she was just too tired to deal.

The couple hadn't deserved what was happening to them. Their love had survived all those years only to be cut short now? Standing by had been beyond her at that moment. Saving that was important enough to her that she had been willing to die for it. Besides . . . living hurt, Elle had discovered. So much so that the darkness had seemed soothing in comparison. The cold of the grave would ease the constant burning behind her eyes and release the pressure of the vise that had for three weeks threatened to crush her chest.

Now, she only hurt. Her face hurt. Her arm hurt. Her side hurt. But her chest didn't; not anymore . . . It was a fading residual ache rather than the sharp ripping pain she had been experiencing in her heart; the kind of pain that had made it a struggle just to breathe. The vise was gone and its absence made Elle feel like crying.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and slithered back into her hairline. She sucked in a shuddering breath and rolled over onto her side. The movement pulled at the stitches in her side. A small whimper escaped her lips. Suddenly a hand slid over her forehead, gently pushing her hair back. She sighed; the tension in her body easing, and she pressed her face into the warm palm.

"Hey there, beautiful," said the voice from her dream. "I missed you. Open your eyes and let me see those gorgeous browns."

Afraid that if she did she would find herself alone again, Elle frowned. Her heart started racing and fresh tears slid down her cheek; one dribbled over the tip of her nose.

"Oh no, baby, don't cry! I'm here, and I promise I'm never going to leave you again!"

Elle opened her eyes, and gasped. "You _are_ here! You're really here? I-I thought I dreamed you."

"No dream, baby. I'm really here," Dick crooned. He kneeled beside the bed; his face so close that his nose brushed hers. "I was so stupid."

He was really here! So, that explained the difference. Elle slowly began to realize the power that this man held over her, and despite the very real love that continued to burn in her heart for him, that he could so easily destroy her peace of mind frightened her. Dear God, thoughts of suicide had even begun to tease her just over the past twenty-four hours! She had arrived at the stage where she would have been willing to do anything to end the pain and sorrow that had come on the heels of his abandonment.

This so wasn't healthy! Everything that Brian, Morris, Shannon, and Jasmine had been telling her was right; and Elle really did need to get over Dick Grayson! Shannon had wanted her to go out with a friend of her brother's as a method of coping; using the man as her rebound guy. Not only had that felt wrong to do this person, but Elle honestly had no desire to replace the hole in her heart with someone else.

After all, she thought miserably as her eyes roamed greedily over Dick's beloved face, who could ever compare? If she couldn't have this man, she didn't want any man.

"It won't work, Bella."

Elle flinched in surprise by her father's voice, although she shouldn't have been shocked by the man's presence. She remembered giving his number to the paramedic as her emergency contact. Her eyes reluctantly moved away from Dick to the man sitting in the chair in the corner beyond Dick's shoulder.

She frowned. He looked terrible! Much worse than he had three weeks ago when he had barged into Wayne Manor and starting spouting inappropriate bullshit and making demands of her. The hate portion of their odd love/hate relationship was becoming more evident today. She _hated_ to see her father sick . . . Elle knew he had been seeing an army of physicians. She also knew he hadn't been telling her the whole truth. It was part of the man's inability to believe she was even partly capable of handling the truth and life in general. She was curious to hear what sort of lies he had prepared for her questions about his health and appearance because there were always lies.

"What won't work, Poppa," she asked.

How dare he presume to know what was going on in her mind? If he had any clue about how she felt, he wouldn't have kept her confined and smothered and helpless for all these years. He would have wished her luck and stood back in order to allow her to live her life the way she wanted to live it.

"Pushing him away," Cedric told her. "It's too late for that."

"You don't know what he's doing to me, Poppa," Elle eased herself up on her elbow.

Dick raised the head of the bed so she could see the room without straining. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for that, Elle. I didn't understand that I was hurting you by staying away," he told her as he picked up a bandaged hand.

Elle pulled her hand away; grimacing at the effort it took when her entire being craved nothing more than to climb into his arms and never let go.

"So, you admit that you were avoiding me?"

"It hurt me, too, Elle," Dick admitted. "It was making me sick staying away from you, and that scared me."

The look she gave him was skeptical. "And yet you wouldn't even take my calls. Am I so terrible that you would prefer to be sick rather than pick up the damned phone?"

"Something happened that day you sent me the video," Dick sighed. He sat back down in the chair he had pulled next to her bed. "I was still at work when I opened and listened to it."

Guilt flickered across her face, and she caught her breath. "Did I interrupt something? Did someone get hurt? It was nearly time for you to get off of work; I thought it would be safe enough to send it. I only meant to cheer you up!"

Dick leaned forward and took her hand again. She didn't pull away this time. "No! No, it wasn't anything like that. I was already back at the station wrapping up some paperwork. But the station was a madhouse that day. We were filled to capacity with angry, violent people and their weeping, wailing victims; all of the cops present were stressed and angry and ready to commit a little police brutality at the least provocation . . . In short, it was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode."

Elle grimaced. "And I sent you that video at the worst time and distracted you . . ."

As the memories of that day flashed through Dick's mind again, he started to see it in a different light. Suddenly, all the potential danger that such a mood-altering ability was capable of was replaced by what had actually happened; a miracle . . . A blessing. That day could have ended so badly, and the reality of just such a danger had only just begun to enter his mind when he had opened Elle's video.

"You saved us, I think," he told her. His eyes were on the far wall as he thought about the incident from this new perspective. "It was loud in there so I turned up the volume. Anyway the noise started to die down shortly after that, and by the end of the song the entire precinct was calm. Everyone's mood had improved. Even the threats of violence had mellowed to an almost pleasant complacency. My co-workers were smiling . . . You're video totally defused the situation."

Elle was staring at him, confused. "Oh . . . I don't think I understand."

"I was the one who didn't understand, Elle," Dick clarified. "I was thinking if you could do this; make people feel things that was a lie, then was what I felt for you a lie also? I'm ashamed to admit that the possibility scared me. All I knew for sure was that there was something about your voice . . ."

"You thought I was manipulating you; that I was somehow _forcing_ you to love me?" Elle didn't know how to take that. That sharp pain in her heart was back, however. She pulled her hand out of his, slowly this time, as she considered what this meant for them. "That's why you wouldn't come to see me and why you refused to take my calls."

"Yes," Dick admitted softly. "At least until I had some answers I thought it would be best if I avoided you for a time."

"So," Elle sighed, staring at her hands in her lap; her dry, normal-appearing hands. "I was right after all. I am a freak . . . A monster," she hissed. Tears escaped to run down her face and she clenched her traitorous hands. Even her voice couldn't be trusted anymore! "And you never even loved me at all."

"No! Elle, that's not what I meant," Dick exclaimed.

"Do you also label your mother a monster, Bella," Cedric's voice was sharp.

"No, Poppa!" Elle had forgotten her father was in the room. "But Mama didn't bewitch people with her voice."

"Ah, but she did, Bella. And as lovely as your voice is, Esmeralda's was far more so. Bewitch is exactly what she could do, and it was part of the reason she stopped singing in public. Her voice, as is yours, had been both a blessing and a curse. Her fans had been quite persistent and sometimes refused take no for an answer." Cedric shook his head sadly. "It made her very sad when she finally came to the conclusion that singing was just too dangerous a profession to pursue."

"I-I didn't know," Elle said. How little she knew about who and what she was. Why hadn't her father told her this before?

"You're grandmother as well. She won't even sing for family. There is a reason for that," he told her.

"Your grandmother is still alive?" Dick asked. He remembered Cedric saying something about that last night. "Does she has similar . . . talents?"

"I can only assume," Elle muttered. "She has never deigned to sing for me, not even after Mama was killed and I would beg her to. I don't even know if she swims or not. I've never seen her in water."

"I did . . . once," Cedric mused. "It was after I married your mother, but before you were born. But I understood that she would swim every day. She was amazing! But she felt uncomfortable with people seeing her hands. The webbing was far more pronounced on your grandmother and didn't completely go away when she was out of the water; merely receded a bit. Both you and your mother's webbing would disappear as your hands would dry."

Elle sat up more and glared at her father. "You should have told me!"

"I wanted you to have a normal childhood, Bella. It is all any parent could want for their child." Cedric exclaimed.

"You kept me practically a prisoner all my life, Poppa! Bodyguards, private tutors, private schools, never allowing me to have a say in any decision . . . How is that normal? And I am a woman grown now. What excuse do you have for continuing your silence during these last six years?"

"Fear."

"What?" Elle stared at him.

"Fear, Bella; that you would react in just this way," Cedric told her. "That I would lose you completely."

"And by extension, Mama," Elle grumbled. Bitterness turned her mouth down.

"I love your mother, Bella, as if she had never died; as if she had never left me here all alone. I will always love my Esmeralda. And yes, you do remind me of her, especially now that you are older, but you are not your mother. No one knows this better than I do," Cedric said, sadly. "But I love you as well. It is because of that love and the promise I made to Esmeralda on the day you were born, that should anything happen to her, I would remain with you instead of following her into death as I preferred."

Elle blinked. "You wanted to die with her?" As much as she had hoped to escape her father's overprotective grip, the idea that she might have easily lost him as she had her mother was distressing. Despite everything, Elle still loved him.

"It is the nature of the bond, Bella. It is why you must forgive Richard. The bond you have to him has eased into completion and is permanent."

"Wait, what bond? I have heard you talk about a bond with Mama and about my grandparents." Elle looked back and forth between the two most important, if also the most aggravating, men in her life. Dick was blushing and seemed suddenly fascinated by the roses sitting on the bedside table. "I thought you were talking about marriage."

"I suppose it is similar to marriage, but goes much farther and deeper than that, Bella. It is a connection between two people's souls; a binding of souls if you will. I spoke with that Atlantian fellow earlier and what he knew was almost identical to what I have learned from your mother and grandmother as well as from my own experience." Cedric said.

"Atlantian?" She looked at Dick to see is he knew what her father was talking about.

"I contacted an Atlantian to ask questions. He came with me when I discovered you were in trouble," Dick explained.

"And how was that, Richard? How did you know Bella was in trouble?"

"Jasmine called you, didn't she?" Elle glanced over at him.

Dick nodded. "Jasmine called me, but that was after I realized you were hurt and in trouble . . . I, um, I felt it."

Elle blinked. "What?"

"I felt your pain and your fear," Dick clarified.

"Something that only one's bonded mate can do," Cedric said.

Elle shook her head. "No, because that day I called you when you were so sick, the day after our first date, I had no idea. Well, I did as soon as I heard you croaking, but there wasn't any inkling that anything was wrong before I called."

"I have no doubt that the bond was created at some point during Richard's visits to the club, but it wasn't likely that it would have progressed to such a degree so early in the relationship. Now, it has. You will need to be in proximity to one another now," Cedric told them.

The couple glanced nervously at one another. "You mean that we should move in together?" Elle felt a little dizzy. This was going way too fast.

"That would be preferable, but not necessary. The bond doesn't mean you must live in one another's pockets or even that you cannot go on trips without the other for a time. You two have gone three weeks without seeing or hearing each other, and without explanation, that turned into something uncomfortable for the two of you, did it not?" Cedric was already nodding; sure of their answer.

"With a phone call or using skype, you can be a world away from one another as long as you are both reassured of your continuing relationship and can see and hear one another regularly. It was the complete separation and the uncertainty that made the three weeks unbearable. But with this in mind, you should limit the separation to around six weeks or less unless you wish to feel terrible repercussions. That has been my experience, at least." Cedric looked at Dick. "Twelve weeks, however, will likely kill her and her death would be so devestating as to make you long to join her."

"What?!" They yelled the question simultaneously.

"I said that twelve weeks apart, even with phone calls, would kill Elle. It _could_ kill _you_," he said to Dick. "But you aren't Siren, so if you can last long enough without committing suicide, you will probably make it . . . Although the urge to follow her might never go away completely. I never pushed the envelope with your mother, though. She was so ill by eleven weeks that I was terrified I would lose her before I could get to her. But I will tell you this; to this day I still want nothing more than to join my sweet Esmeralda."

The room was silent for a long time as the couple digested that alarming declaration. They glanced at each other, but made no other move either toward or away. What the hell had they gotten themselves into?

The silence was broken when the door opened and Bruce and a blond man entered her room. Elle's curiosity was satisfied quickly once Dick's father realized she was finally awake.

"You are looking better, Elle," Bruce said. "How are you feeling?"

Elle's eyes flicked to her father and back as she answered. "Um, not that bad all considering. Thank you for asking."

"Elle, this is Arthur Curry," Bruce introduced the blond man. "He is half Atlantian, and he might be able to answer some of your questions. Arthur, this is Arabella Hamilton." Bruce was careful to not reveal too much about Arthur yet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hamilton," Arthur greeted her.

"Call me Elle, please. Everyone does," she smiled shyly at him. "Well, everyone except for family and strangers, anyway. Have you ever been to Atlantis? Do you know Aquaman?"

Arthur's gaze went to Bruce and then settled on the young, blunt woman. "Yes, and yes."

Despite the overwhelming revelations of the past half hour, Elle grew excited. A real live Atlantian! Well, okay . . . He was half-Atlantian, but it was still so cool! A small smile appeared on her face; the first in forever.

"I was just attempting to explain to them about the bond," Cedric interrupted. "So, it is good you arrived when you did."

Arthur looked over at the elder man. He understood that Arabella's father was only ten years older than Bruce, but the man looked twice that. He could actually _smell_ the sickness on him.

"It is likely that you know more about the bonding of Sirens than I do, Cedric, but I will do what I can to help," Arthur said.

"Sirens . . . That's the second time that has been mentioned. What is a Siren? I thought I was part mermaid or something like that." Elle glanced around the room. From the expressions she noted, it appeared that she was the only one still in the dark about who and what she was. The notion irritated her.

"Part-Atlantian," Arthur clarified. "But just like the surface world, the kingdom of Atlantis has several races. Sirens are but one of these."

"So, then you aren't a Siren," she asked.

Arthur seemed to stare at her for a long moment before answering. "No, I am not. In fact, you are the first Siren I have ever met." At her confusion, Arthur continued. "I'm afraid that your race is a dying breed. What I know of them is what I have learned in books as a part of my Atlantian education."

Elle frowned, and was silent. When she had learned that a man from Atlantis had come with Dick, she had hoped to meet someone like her; someone who could answer all her questions. Disappointment flooded her.

Arthur glanced at Bruce. "This is amazing. Her blood is diluted enough that her voice doesn't overwhelm, although I can easily recognize her emotions by the corresponding feelings that her voice sparks within me. She is irritated and angry and disappointed, I believe." Arthur looked back at a startled Elle. "Because of the news I have brought you?"

Elle gaped at him.

Arthur blinked slowly. "And . . . fear?"

"H-how did you do that?" She demanded to know. "Are you reading my mind or something?"

Arthur seemed to realize that the young woman was indeed everything that Dick believed her to be; innocent and naive and almost completely unaware of who and what she was. Without the dangers normally inherent to those of her race, she was rather endearing. He sought to ease her mind.

He smiled at her. "No, my dear. You are projecting."

Her frown returned. "Projecting? Projecting what exactly?"

"Your emotions. Sirens are beings with magical voices," he began, hoping to make this easy on her. He didn't want to frighten her more with images like those he had given to Dick and Bruce while on the Watchtower. "A full Siren can bespell others with their singing and sometimes with just their speech alone. Yours doesn't appear to be that strong, however. You don't bewitch people; merely project your feelings through your voice. I would wager that it becomes more pronounced when you sing," he said. "Do people weep at your songs or maybe become happier when you sing for them?"

Elle nodded, but it was an almost imperceptable movement. What Dick had said about her voice making people feel lies . . . It was all true? A part of her had refused to believe it, but now . . . _Had_ she made Dick love her, after all? Was this all nothing but a lie to him? And what had her father said about the bond between them . . . That it was now permanent and Dick had no choice but to remain with her forever!

_Oh my God_! What had she done?

She looked at the man she knew she loved with all of her heart and soul panicked and horrified. Did he even love her? Was he trapped unwillingly in a relationship he had never actually wanted for himself? Was he even now being forced to live a lie because of her own inability to control her own voice and her infatuation?

Dick shoved Arthur out of the way and grabbed her hand. "What is it, Elle? What's wrong?"

Her free hand flew to her mouth, and tears once more pricked the back of her eyes. It was true! He was feeling her emotions! _Oh God, what had she done_?

"Poppa," she cried. "Th-the bond! Is there any way we can undo it?"

* * *

Dick gaped at her. "_What_? Why would you want to do that?"

Incredibly, this was what he had originally wanted; to not be forced into something he had no control over. But to hear Elle ask for the same thing stung! He quelled the urge to rub his heart.

Cedric shook his head, helplessly. "Not that I know of. As far as I can tell you have completed the emotional and physical bonding. It is done."

"There is a third bond," Arthur injected. "A spiritual bond."

He smiled a little apologetically at Dick. "I contacted Mera while we were in the waiting room and asked her to look up what she could on Sirens. She had only just returned my call."

Cedric was fascinated. "I was only aware of two bonds."

Arthur shook his head now, and shrugged. "There are apparently three. The emotional, which we all agree has taken place; the physical, which seems to have been accomplished with the act of giving blood; and then the spiritual, which usually happens once the relationship is . . . um, well, consummated."

"I thought that sex was the physical bond," Cedric said, oblivious to the embarrassment and discomfort of the couple in the room.

"Sex can be the catalyst for both the physical and spiritual bonding, unless something like sharing blood happens first," Arthur explained. He glanced curiously back at Dick and Elle, and paused. "Uh, hm . . . I'm guessing by your expressions that you two haven't bonded, ahem, spiritually yet?"

Dick turned his back on the room in general and ran a hand through his hair. Elle buried her face in her hands. The absolute ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on him. Never had so many people that were not his bed partner been so interested in his sex life! But what really was ironic was the fact that he currently _had_ no sex life to speak of . . . The urge to laugh came on him so abruptly that he snorted.

Elle peeked at him through her fingers, aghast, which only made it worse. Dick burst out laughing. He waved a hand helplessly in the air as he struggled to get himself back under control.

"S-sorry," he gasped. "Just give me . . . a minute."

"I don't see that this is a laughing matter, Dick," Elle hissed at him.

If he could breathe maybe he could explain, but all of his air was being used at the moment. He was leaning on the bed when Elle kicked his hand out from under him in a fit of understandable pique. That he ended up sitting on his ass on the floor a second later did nothing to stifle his laughter. He rested his head on his hands and wheezed for several minutes more before managing to calm down and catch his breath.

He sat there amused until Elle squashed any humor left in him.

"So, how do we reverse it."

The determination in her voice had him scrambling to his feet. He had only just accepted this, and now she wanted to end it? A tiny sliver of fear shot through his heart. He suddenly didn't want it reversed. Had Elle fallen out of love with him? What happened to bonded mates if one of them didn't love the other? And if she was no longer projecting love onto him, then why did he still feel it?

"What are you doing?" He demanded to know of her.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she told him angrily. "Do you think I want to be bound to a man whose love for me is just some reflection of my own emotions? I don't want you if you don't truly want me!"

"How do you know what I want unless you ask me," Dick snapped.

"And how do _you_ know what you want if you're under some kind of Siren love spell," she snapped back.

"You didn't do it on purpose, Elle! I understand you couldn't help it. How could you when you didn't know you were doing it at the time?"

Elle paused, surprise on her face. Dick suddenly realized what he had just said. He just admitted that he thought he loved her because of what she had inadvertantly done to him. But that wasn't what he had meant at all! _Shit_!

"Wait! I didn't mean it like that, Elle," Dick scrambled to correct this misperception.

Her gaping mouth snapped shut, and she looked at her father and Arthur furiously. "I want this undone, and I want it undone _now_! _Fix this_!"

"No!" Dick yelled at the two men. He glared at Elle. "I don't want it undone. Did you ever think of that? Maybe I'm happy to be bound to you."

She looked up into his face. His determination was reflected there in hers. But where his expression held a trace of fear; Elle's remained angry.

"It isn't _fair_, Dick! We both deserve better than this! I deserve a man who truly loves me; not a victim of my own infatuation and a couple of love songs! You deserve to fall in love naturally; knowing that whatever you feel in your heart is real. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I love you, Dick. I _adore_ you, but I have to know that you really love and adore me, too."

She looked past him. "This is your fault, Poppa. You should have told me sooner. You should have warned me! Now, you fix this!"

"I-I don't know how." Cedric words eased the fear in Dick's chest somewhat.

"Figure it out!"

Elle's demand sliced a piece of Dick soul. He felt panic rising. He didn't want them to figure it out. However this started, he knew . . . He _knew_ that what was in his heart was his own because his head was telling him that it was true also; that logically, he knew that Elle was his perfect mate.

Arthur sighed. "There is no cure for this that I am aware of. Everything we had found indicates that there is no going back. To attempt to do this would kill you, Elle, and very likely Dick, too. I'm sorry."

Dick watched as a tear spilled down Elle's bruised face. The purples of yesterday had already faded to greens and yellows and would probably be gone by morning. His heart ached with both her pain and his own.

she sniffled and scrubbed angrily at the tear; ignoring the pain such rough treatment would cause.

"That is unacceptable," she whispered, and rolled to her side facing away from the occupants in the room.

* * *

**Here's a twist . . . So, what do you think of the story so far?**


	36. Gym Mats & Spiritual bonds

**Warning: I am trying very hard to keep this PG-17. But c'mon, this _IS_ a romance, after all . . .**

* * *

You are going to have to forgive me some time, you know," Dick said as he followed her into her apartment carrying several bags of groceries. "We're in this together apparently for the long haul."

Elle glanced back at him over her shoulder. She was feeling normal again, and grimaced internally from the knowledge that it was only so because Dick had been coming to see her regularly every day. He spent hours with her here at her apartment; eating, watching movies, playing games, sleeping on her couch. They hadn't talked since the discussion at the hospital where the true horror of the bonding and the hidden talents of being a Siren had come to the surface. Elle was still dealing with the emotional fallout from that, as well as the fact that Dick had thought so little of her that he had believed that she had sought to control him with her 'magical' voice.

Well, mostly _she_ hadn't talked, but Dick more than made up for it. Although almost as often, they sat together in the room in silence . . . A strangely comfortable silence. He still went home at night, but would often show up the next morning looking tired rather than well-rested, and then they would have breakfast together like some old couple. He would crash for a couple of hours on her couch and then head off to work. She was getting a little suspicious that he was working the nightshift and not telling her, although why he didn't want her to know, she couldn't imagine. But whatever he was doing was running him ragged.

If she wanted to avoid him, she would need to have her locks changed. Her father had handed him a key to her apartment before he had left the hospital to fly back to Chicago. The sneaky bastard had had the key made probably within an hour of her moving in, and now he hands it to Dick without even a by-your-leave. And although Elle had informed the security guard that Dick wasn't welcome, he always managed to get past the guard anyway. She suspected he bribed the guards in some way . . . Maybe losing a parking ticket for them or something.

Elle frowned, feeling guilty for that bit of slander. For all his faults, Dick was an honest and upstanding cop in a town that had been suffering from good and honest anemia.

"What did I do now," Dick asked her; totally mistaking the reason behind her frown. He sat the bags on the table and slid his arms around her waist.

Despite his presumptive action, Elle reveled in to the feel of him. Her nose twitched as she breathed deeply the scent of him. He always smelled so good, and this time wasn't any different. It made her stomach flip and do some crazy, fluttery jig. She caught herself leaning back into him, and pulled abruptly away.

Dick sighed, and after a minute, started pulling items from the bag and putting them away. When his back was to her, Elle smirked. Dick had gotten much neater since the first time she had gone to his apartment after their first date and had cleaned up after him. He was carefully adjusting the cans in the cupboard so that all of the like foodstuffs were stacked together with their labels facing out for easy access.

"I'll forgive you," Elle finally deigned to speak after four days of the silent treatment. "Eventually."

Dick stiffened, and then the tension eased from his shoulders at her words; tension she hadn't even realized he was feeling. Learning about her voice made Elle wonder if he relaxed because she had told him that she would forgive him or simply a reaction to hearing her "voice" for the first time in days. She hated always questioning everything; wondering if he was acting normally or if she were somehow forcing him to do something or act a certain way because of something she said. She still really didn't understand what it was exactly she could do with her voice despite what bits that Arthur Curry had told her. That was the main reason behind her silence; not so much anger as she knew he believed. She had gotten over that for the most part by the next day after Dick had brought her home from the hospital.

After putting away the last of the groceries, Dick stepped in front of her; his hands sliding around her waist. He grinned down at her.

"You aren't forgiven yet," she muttered, pulling back.

His hands tightened just a bit. "Huh-uh," he told her. "You aren't going anywhere just yet. I want to see your stitches."

"Good luck with that," she smirked. "I removed them yesterday after you went home."

He frowned. "You were supposed to leave them in for two weeks!"

"Right, and have them grow into my skin. I heal fast," she said, trying not to purr at the feel of his hands on her. "Faster, apparently, since getting your magic blood."

"My blood isn't magic. It's all some kind of metaphysical mumbo-jumbo linked with the bonding," he told her, and then wished he had just kept his mouth shut. She had stiffened up. "Regardless, I want to see it."

Sighing, she stepped back and lifted the edge of her shirt up a few inches. Dick kneeled down in front of her and turned down the edge of her pants to expose the wound . . . But there wasn't a wound there. It was almost entirely gone!

Only a faint pink line remained. He gaped and traced a finger over the disappearing scar. Elle shivered. When Dick glanced up at her face, she shrugged; pretending nonchalance.

"What? I'm cold!" She glared down at him.

But Dick grinned knowingly. Before she realized what he was going to do, he darted in to trace the pink line again only this time with his tongue. She shivered again even more violently.

"Ack, stop that," she shrieked; lightly whacking him on the shoulder.

He laughed and gripped her hips firmly so that he could plant a kiss on the spot next. Elle grabbed two fistfuls of black hair and raised him up.

"All right, all right," he laughed. "I won't kiss your scar anymore." His arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her flush against his body. "I'd rather settle for your lips anyway," he whispered as he lowered his head.

Elle gave a token shove at his immovable chest and turned her head. His kiss landed on her ear. Dick didn't seem to mind as he began nibbling on her lobe, and then that particularly sensitive section of skin on her neck directly behind it. In a moment of weakness, Elle allowed her head to tilt; giving him easier access. Pleasure hummed throughout her body as if all of her nerves were attached to that one spot by an electrical charge.

"Hmm . . . Stop it," she moaned, and cringed internally when it came out sounding more like 'take me' by her tone.

But Dick listened to her words rather than her tone, and pulled back. He smiled down at her heavy-lidded expression and pleasurably-dilated eyes. She almost groaned. If he had ignored her . . . She stopped, and this time she sighed. If he had ignored her, then he _would_ have been a jerk, and Dick was a lot of things, but not a jerk. She detached herself from his arms reluctantly.

"How long would you estimate I'll have to wait for that forgiveness," he asked.

Elle turned her back to him quickly; the better to avoid looking at the adorable, kicked-puppy look he was so talented at. She gave up. Elle had never been good at grudges anyway. This was the longest she had ever managed to date.

"You're forgiven," she muttered, and then shrieked when Dick suddenly picked her up and spun her around. He whooped, and she laughed; wondering how she had ever managed to stay mad at him at all.

"We have to celebrate," he proclaimed.

"Do we? What do you suggest," she asked, intrigued.

"I know just the thing . . ." his voice trailed off as he carried her into her bedroom.

* * *

Elle glanced around the deserted gymnasium as Dick flipped on lights. This wasn't exactly what she had had in mind when she had asked for his suggestion only an hour ago. To say she had been surprised when he set her down beside her bed and started rummaging through her drawers only to toss some workout clothes at her head would have been an understatement.

"What are we doing here?" Despite speaking softly, Elle's voice echoed around the room. Huh! Nice acoustics . . .

"We're going to celebrate," Dick repeated. "Your forgiveness and your survival."

Elle blinked and turned her head to stare at him. "What do you mean by that?"

He took her by the hand and led her over to a large matted area with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. "You've just earned several free lessons in self-defense."

"You're joking, right?" She smiled hesitantly.

Dick looked her right in the eye, dead serious. "Not even close."

* * *

Elle slapped the mat again with a loud whump; whatever shred of air in her lungs not forced out by her landing immediately fled with a wheeze when Dick landed on top of her back.

"Oof," she grunted. It took her a minute to be able to speak and when she did, it was barely audible even with the grand acoustics available. "Get off!"

Dick had already been pushing off of her when she grumbled beneath him. He waited until she rolled over, and by her expression, he had a feeling that he would be begging for forgiveness again over the next several days. He held out his hand and was pleased when she took it, however grudgingly it was. Of course, it could just mean that she was merely too exhausted to crawl to her feet by herself.

"Are you all right?"

The look she sent him would have melted Mr. Freeze on the spot. Yup, nothing but a puddle . . .

"I have a question," she asked, panting.

"Of course!" He wanted her asking questions. The better her understanding, the better she would do, and the safer she would ultimately be.

"Apparently, I misheard you earlier," she began.

Dick frowned. "How is that?"

"I had thought you said that this was supposed to be a celebration of my survival, but I see now that what you meant to say was that this was supposed to finish off what the mugger had started. Ugh!" Elle yanked out her ponytail holder and began reapplying it after smoothing up all the damp strands that had fallen out during her multiple humiliations all in the name of teaching her self-defense. "So, I guess my question is this; are you _trying_ to kill me?"

Dick grinned and risked pulling her close despite the fact that she was not appreciating his cheerful demeanor. "Ah, my poor baby," he crooned, nuzzling her sweaty brow.

"Ew," Elle shoved him away. "Dick, I'm so gross!"

"I think you're beautiful."

"Gah! This bonding thing is obviously affecting your eyesight," She grumbled, wiping off her forehead with a towel. "Okay, so tell me again what beating the crap out of me is supposed to accomplish? I mean, besides getting out your frustrations."

Dick choked on the water he was drinking. "Hey! That's not what this is about!"

Elle picked up her own water bottle, raising an eyebrow at him as she opened it. "Go on," she challenged. "You have my attention now."

"As opposed to not having it previously," Dick deadpanned. "Look, Elle, I would prefer it if during the next mugging or robbery you happen upon you turn around and run in the opposite direction, but if you choose not to do that, then you need to learn how better to defend yourself."

Elle glared at him. "I didn't just jump into that situation, you know. I stayed back and hidden until it began apparent that the guy was going to shoot that old couple." She huffed. "Are you telling me that you would really rather me just stand there and watch it happen and do nothing about it?"

"Of course not! You dial 911, and wait for the police." Dick yelled at her. "My God, Elle! You almost died!"

"Jasmine had already dialed 911," Elle argued back. "But they would never have made it in time. You're a cop! Don't tell me that you wouldn't try to intervene on their behalf!"

"That's right, Elle; I'm a cop! I'm trained for this! I don't just leap into a situation that I'm incapable of handling," Dick exclaimed. "_That_ is why we are here, by the way. I can see that you are too softhearted to stay back where you'd be safe, so I am attempting to teach you a few basic self-defense moves that might help prevent you from getting shot or stabbed in the future."

"Is that what this is? I still waiting for the part where you show me how to kick your ass instead of you continuing to throw me down on mine."

"You have to put some effort into it as well," he said. "I'm not trying to be mean, Elle. If you are attacked, the perp won't go easy on you or stop when you get tired or hurt. He wants to hurt you! You need to be able to keep fighting even when you are in pain; even when you think you cannot go on any longer. However, I'm hoping that I can show you some moves that will enable you to get away from him before it reaches that point. You don't need to defeat the guy, you know; just escape him so you can get away or at least get to help."

"Fine, fine, whatever." Elle sighed. "I see your point. And it would have been nice to have been able to save that couple without getting stabbed, although the knife wound in my side was a total accident." At Dick's confusion, she clarified; smirking. "He kind of fell on me after I kicked his genitals into his chest cavity."

Dick burst out laughing, causing Elle to smile. "Oh my God! What I wouldn't have given to have seen that."

"If you'd have been there, you still wouldn't have seen it because I would have let my hero step in to save the day while I remained safely behind corner of the building," Elle remarked casually as she set down her bottle and towel.

The sudden silence had her turning her head and finding Dick looking stricken. "What? What's wrong?"

He crossed the mat and yanked her into a hard hug; clinging to her. "I'm so sorry, baby," he told her in a pained voice. "I should have been there for you. It's my fault you were hurt! My fault and my stupidity . . ."

She tightened her hold on him. "No, Dick! No, it wasn't your fault. It was all mine. I made the decision to walk home instead of taking a cab; my decision to intervene in the mugging; it was my own damned fault. But despite everything that happened, I don't regret it. If I had stayed safe and that couple had died for it; _that_ I would have regretted for the rest of my life."

Dick held her close, rubbing his cheek on the top of her head. "My hero," he whispered.

Warmth flooded Elle's insides at his whispered praise. She looked up at him and saw nothing but sincerity in his gaze. She raised up on her toes and kissed him.

It was several minutes, or maybe it was several hours, later when he raised his head to look down into her passion-glazed eyes. They were both out of breath now. His pressed his lips to her forehead, and she hummed in pleasure.

"So," he whispered seductively. "Are you ready to try again?"

It took nearly ten seconds before she realized what he had just said. This time when their eyes met, hers were narrowed.

"Slave driver," she muttered under her breath, but not so low that he didn't hear her; just as she wanted. "Come on then," Elle said in a normal tone of voice. "It's time I put you in your place, tough guy."

"That's the spirit," Dick grinned at her.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dick hit the mat so hard that he grunted from the impact. He looked up at his stunned girlfriend. Elle stood over him in shock. Slowly her mouth morphed from a surprised 'oh' into a bright, wide grin. Suddenly she leapt into the air, punching it with her fist, and whooping in absolute delight.

Elle began her victory dance around his supine form; punctuating every few moves with crows of "YES!" and "WOO-HOO!" and "Who's the woman?!". Dick smiled at her antics; pleased with her first successful throw. She had been learning how to get out of various holds and doing very well, but it took her flipping him onto the floor to get this sort a reaction from her.

On her third time around, Dick grabbed her ankles and jerked her legs out from under her. He pulled her across his body to cushion her impact, and then rolled her over onto her back; settling himself comfortably between her legs. She glared up at him as he held her arms against the mat above her head.

"Hey," she complained. "What was that for?"

"Sorry," he told her; looking anything but even remotely apologetic. "I was feeling excluded from the celebration."

She twisted and shifted under him, and his eyes widened as he abruptly became a little too comfortable in his position. Elle stared up at him as she recognized the not so subtle changes her movements had caused. Neither said anything; just stared into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to either move or say something to diffuse the suddenly intense mood. When it didn't happen, Dick's cerulean blue eyes flicked down to her lips. Elle licked her lips nervously.

They had kissed many times before. Each time it had sent tiny sparks of electricity zinging through their veins; awakening previously unknown patterns of nerves. Time would fade away and passion became the very air they breathed. But Dick had always been careful before. Keeping those moments reigned in by time or place or by keeping his body carefully in line.

Tonight, they were alone in a place where their privacy was guaranteed for hours yet, and his body had already slipped from whatever careful control he had attempted to place on it. It was also becoming obvious to him that he was alone in his concern as Elle slid hands into his hair and tugged his face down to hers. Her bare feet slid up his calves, and one leg wrapped around his waist.

_Oh hell, I'm in real trouble now_.

His eyes slid closed as their mouths touched and her bold tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips. As their lips parted, he sank deeper into her sweet embrace.

_Oh God, someone had turned up the voltage_!

It was his last coherent thought for a long while as he gave himself over to the heaven beneath him.

* * *

**Okay, somebody's GOT to have some opinions on this one. **

**I realize that this isn't silk sheets, rose petals, and candlelight, but Dick and Elle apparently weren't picky when the mood finally struck, and they were tired of waiting for me. And you have to admit . . . They aren't exactly a normal couple, so why should this experience be considered "normal" either? Answer: It shouldn't! **


	37. Car Trouble

"You want to go _where_ tonight?"

Elle smiled as she looked through her closet. "You heard me," she called. "Besides, I need to arrange for my car to be towed before Brian has it impounded or something."

Dick stood in the doorway of her walk-in closet still in his police uniform. "What car? You don't have a car."

"Yes I do," she countered over her shoulder. "I bought one the week after you dumped me."

Dick's face darkened as he scowled at her. "I did _not_ dump you! I wish you'd quit referring to it like that."

Elle blew out a breath, as she pulled a dress out to contemplate. "Fine. Your abandonment, then."

Dick took the dress from her and hung it up. He turned her around, and she was startled at the hurt she saw in his face.

"Elle, _please_. I _never_ meant to hurt you. Our separation hurt me, too," he repeated for her once more; this time, however, there was a suspicious gleam to his lovely blue eyes. "I couldn't eat; couldn't sleep; there was a constant pain in my chest that seemed to grow more and more each day. But even more than that," he said. "I just missed you . . . so much."

"Oh. No," Elle slid her hands up to cup his beautiful face. "I'm sorry, Dick. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty again. I was only teasing you this time. I've forgiven you. Now then, will you forgive me my stupid insensitivity?"

"You are home to me, Elle. You know that, don't you?" His hands rubbed her back as he searched her eyes. "I would be lost without you."

"I know," she smirked. "We're bonded and all that."

Dick frowned. "No, this isn't the bonding. This has been the way I've felt from the beginning. The reason I kept coming back to listen to you; the reason I asked you out. I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on you that you were special. I felt as if I had finally come home after years of searching."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "That is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me, Dick Grayson."

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth.

"Mm," she hummed as he kissed her. "I love you, too," she breathed against his lips. "So very much."

Several minutes later, Dick pulled away breathless as something Elle had said earlier finally penetrated his brain. "Wait a minute," he gasped. "You have a car?"

Elle blinked at him. "I thought we had already established that."

"If you had a car, why the hell were you walking home the other night? Why didn't you just drive," he demanded of her angrily.

"It wouldn't start," she explained.

"What? It's a month old and it wouldn't start? What the hell?" Dick's voice began to rise.

Shrugging, Elle turned back to her wardrobe. "It's a used car; about eighteen years old, I think. I suppose it just needs a little tender loving care. I plan to have it towed to the shop and have it worked on."

"Eighteen years old? Are you serious? Why didn't you just buy new," he asked.

"It might be nineteen; I can't remember. And I didn't want new," she explained. "New would mean dipping into the fund that my father set up for me. Buying used meant I could just pay cash and not be beholding to Poppa."

"Elle, that's crazy! Your father set up that account for you to use as a way to help you."

She turned around and looked at him seriously. "Pot meet kettle . . ."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that _your_ father would love to help you as well, and yet if he offers you anything at all, _you_ take it as an insult," she poked him in the chest. "Don't judge me or insinuate that I'm being obstinate. At least when Bruce wants to help, he doesn't expect anything in return. _My_ father never steps out of the boardroom, Dick. Everything he does is all a part of the negotiation; all a part of the deal. If I take from him, then I will owe him."

"It didn't seem that way to me when I met him. He seemed to genuinely care about you." Dick ran a hand through his hair.

"You haven't known him long enough," Elle stated, turning back to pull out a navy blue velvet pantsuit with rhinestone buttons and satin collar. "He's already negotiated my visits to Chicago once a month and tried to arrange for me to attend social events with an escort of his choice."

It was Dick's turn to blink. "But he knows you're dating me."

"This was early on. He hadn't collected all the information on you at that time. All he knew was that you were a cop, and thus not good enough for his little girl. Once he discovered you were also the eldest son of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, he stopped insisting and even pulled Edward and Hugh back to Chicago."

Elle put the pantsuit back and pulled out a long-sleeved, cocktail dress made entirely of white lace and light-beige satin slip beneath. She always received a lot of double takes while wearing it as it looked like she was naked beneath the lace. Elle smirked, knowing if Dick saw her in it, he would likely swallow his tongue.

"In his mind, we are already as good as married," she told him as she carefully putting the dress back. She might come back the dress or save it for another time.

* * *

Marriage.

Dick pursed his lips as he thought it over. If what Cedric and Aquaman had told them was true, then marriage was just a mere technicality. He and Elle would be together forever with or without the piece of paper and fancy ceremony.

He stared at the back of her neck. Elle had whipped her heavy mane of dark silk onto her head in a messy bun. The long strands that had escaped teased him; making him want to kiss the skin that they caressed. He got a sense of satisfaction of knowing that he now had a right to touch that creamy softness for the rest of his life.

Funny that the thought of commitment wasn't making him hyperventilate now. He had thought long and hard about asking Babs to marry him before he actually did it. He frowned remembering how he had been so sure that they had been meant to be together. So much so that he had often put off asking her because marriage had just been a given in his mind, and they had plenty of time to get around to it. And when he _had_ finally asked her, she had said no . . . In fact, she had told him no several times until he had eventually worn her down. They had even joked about how long it had taken for her to say yes, and while it hadn't bothered him at the time, it was suddenly bothering him now. He remembered all of the reasons she had given him for refusing him before, and then, even after Babs had deigned to accept his proposal, she had made it hinge upon certain demands . . . Like his relationship with Bruce. Why was he only seeing this now?

Dick looked back at Elle as she moved to another section of the closet and started tugging out blouses to mix and match with slacks and skirts. She was humming under her breath, and it made him smile. She was happy. He knew it for a fact in his very soul that at this particular moment, Elle was content and happy with her life . . . Even knowing that they were stuck together by some metaphysical bond, she was happy; happy with him, happy to _be_ with him.

Dick had always had to work so hard for Barbara. It had always been on her terms; always her way. It hadn't felt like it at the time, but then he had been so far gone in his infatuation that he didn't think he would have recognized it had someone posted it on a billboard with flashing neon lights. Working hard for it meant she was worth it, right? It meant that when she had finally given in to his proposal that he had earned something valuable . . . Or had he, in truth, just worn her down?

He suddenly wondered what Elle would say to him if he dropped to his knee right now and proposed. Would she be happy about it or would she make some snarky comment about the bond not giving them a choice? With Babs, it had felt as if marriage and forever was just a given, but with Elle, it really was!

Elle turned around abruptly and looked at him. "Something bothering you?"

His lips quirked. _Damned bond_ . . . "No, just thinking . . ."

He could see the concern in her eyes as she put the outfit back, and came to him. Her hands ran up his chest and over his shoulders; squeezing gently to ease tension he hadn't realized he had been feeling.

"Such serious thoughts," she said softly. "Care to share? Or should I just mind my own damned business?"

He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose. He grinned at her answering smile. "I'm fine. Like I said, I was just thinking. Nothing for you to worry about."

She stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then sighed. "Okay, fine. Just remember I asked. So, are you going to go with me or not?"

Dick's gaze flitted back to the elegant outfits she had been looking through. "Do we really need to dress up in order to arrange for a tow truck?"

"Yes," she told him with that gorgeous smile. "I want to see everyone. Plus, I hardly ever got to eat at Chez Donovan's when I worked there. Never seemed to be enough time to sit down and really enjoy it. I only ever got a sandwich or salad. I want something special this time."

"Their salmon is good," he commented.

Elle wrinkled her nose. "Bleh, seafood."

"What? I just can't understand how you can you say that," Dick gasped. "My favorite food is crab-stuffed mushrooms."

She looked at him horrified. "You eat sea-spiders?"

He looked confused. "Sea-spiders?"

"That's what crabs resemble . . . Cute, I suppose in their own way, but to eat them? Ick!"

"Cute?" He laughed. "They're hardly that, but they are delicious. Lobster, too!"

Elle stared at him open-mouthed for a long moment, and then pursed her lips. "It's a good thing we're bonded because that would be a deal-breaker right there." She waved a hand as she brushed past him. "But we'll just have to agree to disagree."

Dick watched her walk past him. She _was_ part mermaid or Siren or whatever; was it so hard to believe that she didn't want to eat seafood? Of course, she hadn't known this about herself until a month ago. He wondered if it were something ingrained or some genetic predisposition that had her disliking seafood. Huh? he would have to ask Aquaman about it sometime. In the meantime, Dick decided that he would just have to go out for seafood alone or with some of his co-workers.

"I'll have to run home to shower and change." He glanced at the clock. It was six-thirty already. "I'll be back here in about an hour. Will that be enough time for you?"

Elle pulled out the two Chinese sticks that was holding her hair up, and all that sinfully dark satin fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back. She shook it out, running her fingers through the silky strands, and Dick's mouth went dry. Maybe he could talk her into ordering in instead?

"An hour is fine," she told him, and then frowned. "You need to keep a few things over here, I think. It would save a ton of time."

"Things? Like what?" He didn't mean to sound obtuse, but he was busy trying to pull the blood back up to his brain at the moment.

Elle shrugged. "A few changes of clothes, maybe? A little something for every occasion, so that if we decide to go out dancing or to dinner or to the gym while you are over here, you don't have to go home first."

"That's an idea," he agreed. "You might consider the same thing for my place."

She smiled at him. "I think that could be arranged."

"Okay, then I better get going if I'm going to get back here in an hour," he said.

Elle followed him out to the living room. Dick paused, a photograph catching his eye. He'd only been here a couple of times before the separation, but he'd come by every day for the past week and never noticed it before. It was a picture of them dancing. He blinked. It was a picture of them dancing from the first night Elle had serenaded him! He recognized the red gown she had been wearing!

"Where'd you get that? I don't remember anyone taking our picture that night?"

"Um, well, actually no one took our picture. This is a frame from a video that was taken of us by a news crew that had been there that night. I talked them into giving me that video, and filming me singing to a couple that were having an anniversary instead. I loved this shot of us, so I had it printed and professionally framed." Elle smiled, picking up the picture and handing it to him. "What do you think of it?"

It was amazing, he thought. And enlightening . . . It was obvious now that he was looking at this from an outside perspective that they had both been head over heels in love with one another from the very beginning. He had never before believed in love at first sight, but this was proving him wrong.

He knew she was special from the first time he had laid eyes on her. Dick had told her as much several minutes ago, but _this_ . . . He smiled, remembering what it had felt like holding her in his arms for the first time. And right here was the photographic proof that he had loved her at that moment - that perfect moment.

"Do you think I could get a copy of this? Maybe something smaller, like for my wallet or maybe my patrol car," he asked.

The idea that he liked the picture enough to want to keep it with him throughout the day sent joy burbling up inside of her. "I think that can be arranged," she told him.

Dick set the picture down reluctantly. He moved to the door, but turned back to Elle before opening it. She moved effortlessly into his embrace and he grinned down at her. She still felt like heaven in his arms. He had a very good feeling that she always would.

"I'll be back in an hour," he whispered against her lips.

The kiss was short by their standards, but longer than it should have been. At this rate, they would be lucky to get to the restaurant/club before the show started. He pulled away and opened the door.

"Lock up behind me," he reminded her, and stood there until he heard the lock click into place.

He checked his watch. He would have to hurry if they planned to make it by eight o'clock. He jogged past the elevator to the stairs. He could get to the bottom faster this way, he thought, and began leaping over the rail to the next set of stairs below; landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and on and on until he reached the bottom. He waved at a startled guard as he raced out the door and down the steps of the building. He wondered if he would have to sneak back in when he came back or if Elle would finally call down and tell the desk that he was now a welcomed visitor.

* * *

"So, this is _it_?" Dick wasn't impressed; he was horrified.

"That's it," Elle chirped happily, confirming his worst fears.

"You do realize that this state has lemon laws, right," he informed her. "You can take this thing back to the dealer and get your money back for it."

"I don't want to," Elle pouted. "I_ like_ this car."

Dick turned to face her; crossing his arms. He took the chance that leaning on the vehicle wouldn't cause the door to fall off. "Elle, it isn't your grandmother, even if it _is_ likely as old as she is. You can take it back without hurting its feelings."

"Pfft, you mustn't exaggerate, Dick. It is beneath you," she stated regally. "It is only eighteen years old. It's a classic."

"It's a hunk of junk! It was a hunk of junk when it was new! I don't want you driving something that might break down on you, or not offer you protection if you ever get in an accident," he declared.

Elle grinned at him and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Aren't you the sweetheart; going all protective he-man on me?"

Dick laughed in spite of himself. "Huh-uh, you aren't going to win this one, Elle. I refuse to let you drive something so unreliable."

Eyelids lowering to half-mast, Elle smiled at him again. Except this time, it didn't reach her eyes. "You won't _'let_' me? Would you care to rephrase that?"

"No, I won't rephrase that," he told her; accepting her challenge. "You need a better car than this, Elle. I'm not going to rephrase anything and I'm not going to back down."

"And if I can get it fixed so that it _is_ reliable . . .?" Elle tilted her head to the side and blinked up at him coyly through her lashes.

Dick narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "**_IF_** . . . you can get it fixed so that it's reliable, then we'll see."

Her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face.

"I mean it, Elle. It must be reliable . . . And that means up to _my_ standards! I won't have you stranded out here, especially with winter coming on, or you having to walk home again after dark. I could have lost you. I won't risk you again," Dick warned her.

She nodded excitedly, and turned to face the gruff, scruffy-looking, tow truck driver. "You know of a good mechanic's shop, don't you? It has to be the best, you know. Someone who can make my baby purr like a kitten . . ."

The man had been looking her up and down, but swallowed when she turned to face him and the boyfriend caught his eye. The glare the man had sent his way rattled him. Despite the fact that he was taller than the boyfriend by several inches and probably outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, the smaller man seemed more than confident that he could take him on. Perhaps, if he weren't in such a rush to tow this rust-bucket out of here so that he could go home, he'd be more willing to teach the boyfriend the error of his ways.

"I, uh . . . Sure," the guy told her. "I know just the place. The mechanic there is a good friend of mine. I'll put in a word with him and he'll take real good care of you," the tow truck driver promised. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a card. "Here you go. Give him a call tomorrow and tell him Nate sent you. He'll check your baby over and fix you right up - No problem."

Elle started to tuck it in her purse when Dick snatched it out of her hand. He glanced at the shop's name. It looked familiar. Where had he seen it before? He couldn't remember off hand, but he made a note to look the place up tomorrow when he got to work. Elle took it back and tucked it in her clutch. It didn't matter. Dick had memorized it already.

"Take good care of her, okay?"

The guy doffed his cap to her, just like a gentleman. "I surely will, ma'am. Don't you worry none."

Dick frowned at the guy, and put his arm around Elle to lead her over to the restaurant. It was twenty after eight already. By the time they were seated, ordered, and got their food there wouldn't be much time to eat. And he so wasn't looking forward to this. He wouldn't be surprised if one of the staff spit into his food, given what his last reception here had been like. Maybe the fact that Elle was looking so damned happy would mitigate the protective anger of her ex-co-workers and the restaurant personnel would forgive him.

Or he might end up with more than a split lip this time. He sighed, nuzzled Elle's ear and approached the entrance with something resembling wishful thinking. It was too bad that reality kept intruding or he might have looked forward to this.

* * *

**REACTIONS? OPINIONS?**


	38. Chez Donovan's

Dick almost laughed at Igor's face as he and Elle walked up to the entrance of Chez Donovan's. He held it in, however, because he knew that the bouncer and everyone that worked here had been Elle's support throughout their three week separation, and that all of them had heard about the mugging. Igor, aka Dennis, gaped openly at Elle, and if Dick wasn't mistaken, was looking a little misty at their impromptu reunion.

"Miss Elle! Are you okay," Igor exclaimed. "We had heard that you had been hurt in a mugging and everyone has been frantic."

Dick lips twitched, picturing the behemoth in front of them as 'frantic'.

"Don't I look okay, Dennis?" Elle held out her arms. Her white, wide-collared, swing coat ended mid-thigh, but was long enough to hide the dress beneath; shapely legs and white, lacy, high-heeled, ankle boots were all that were visible. She looked like a dream . . .

"You look gorgeous, as usual, Miss Elle," Igor said, blushing. "I'm glad to see you're all right."

Although the bouncer frowned at Dick as they passed, it wasn't as hostile as the other night. Igor held the door for them and Dick followed her into the busy restaurant. He helped her out of her coat and tried not to swallow his tongue as he took in the sexy, little number she had worn tonight. The dress was off the shoulder with long sleeves and stopped a couple of inches above her knees. It was entirely made of white lace, and although Dick knew there was a satin sheathe beneath the lace, it was perfectly matched to Elle's skin coloring and basically invisible. He decided that this was his favorite dress of hers yet.

It took a moment before Shannon noticed them, and the drama began as soon as she saw Elle. The woman actually left the desk and the two people she was greeting to rush over and fling herself onto his girlfriend, squealing in delight. It was so outside of his realm of experience, Dick just stood quietly to the side, grinning at the two in amusement. None of his other girlfriends actually squealed and neither did their friends.

"Oh, God! Look at you! You look wonderful," Shannon gushed. "We were all terrified when we heard what had happened. You should have called, or," she shot Dick a venomous look. "Or at least had loverboy over there call."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Elle said. "It was just too bad of me. But look, I'm perfectly fine, and it is all thanks to Dick."

What was she doing? He didn't do much besides hold her hand and talk her ear off as he begged her forgiveness over the course of the past week.

Shannon glanced over at him skeptically. "Hm," she said. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your fiancé?"

Elle shot him an amused look. He had told her of his ruse to get in to see her. Elle didn't rise to the bait. "I was fortunate that Dick showed up when he did. He was able to give me blood and saved my life."

Dick blinked, surprised. Although, she was telling the truth, Elle made him sound far more heroic than he felt. Maybe it was because he'd been so guilt-ridden since none of this would have happened had he not been an idiot.

Shannon must have thought something similar. "He gave you blood? Didn't the hospital have blood?"

"They did, but it wasn't my type." Elle told her. "Amazingly enough, we both have the same unusual blood type."

He almost choked containing his snort. He was A positive; hardly unusual, but he managed to keep a humbled expression on his face.

Shannon looked at him oddly. "So, from the looks of it, you two have cleared the air, and all is forgiven?"

Elle slid her arm through Dick's and leaned her head on his shoulder. Happiness radiated off of her; warming the room. People smiled at them fondly, and Dick watched as several of the couples present began holding hands or embracing. Nearly all of them gazed upon their significant other with adoration. Was this Elle projecting again?

He glanced down at the woman on his arm. She winked at him, and he blushed. Dick Grayson-Wayne, chick magnet and chip off of the old playboy block, actually blushed!

"So, are you here for dinner or might, I hope, to get your old job back," Shannon asked before moving back around to the hostess desk.

"For dinner," Elle clarified. "We'll have to discuss the job."

She surprised him again, indicating she would consider his opinion before taking back her job as a singer. Dick had just assumed that she would. Her love of music was so great, he couldn't imagine her not doing what she so loved, but when he opened his mouth to say so, Elle gave his a frown and a little head shake. He blinked and slowly closed his mouth. She smiled at him for being so clever and observant.

It was ridiculous how proud of himself he suddenly was. He looked down at her suspiciously, but she was seeing how long the wait was before they could get a table.

* * *

There was another moment when the head waiter, Robert, saw them. He insisted upon leading them to their table himself. Dick was amused when they were led to his usual table and seated. Dick gave the waiter points when he managed the whole thing without sending a single glare in his direction. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

He could only blame the fact that he grew up in a traveling circus before becoming a city slicker for not realizing he shouldn't count his eggs before they hatched. Certainly, had he spent any time whatsoever around a farm or live chickens, he would have heard of this apparently popular idiom and been forewarned and thus forearmed. Alas, it was not to be . . .

It began simply enough with dinner.

Elle's meal was seasoned and cooked to perfection; every crispy piece of lettuce, every juicy morsel, every bite of fluffy, chocolate mousse absolutely a chef's triumph. His . . . eh, not so much. It annoyed him that he would have to pay a king's ransom and walk out of here still hungry. He did discover in the process that Elle's emotional projections had a limit, and the door that led to the kitchen was it.

Dick didn't complain, however. In all honestly, he was afraid to. The people that worked here adored his girlfriend, which was more than fine in his book, but they were less than pleased with him. His bread was doughy; his salad wilted, his meat cooked within an inch of being charcoal, his vegetables were so salty he was a little worried about his blood pressure. He skipped desert.

Elle was sympathetic, but not so much that she was willing to share much of her dinner with him. He got a few bites of each item, and she fed him almost half of her fruit compote, which was delicious - damn it! When she announced that she wanted to stay for the show and to dance, Dick seriously considered ordering something and having it delivered. Elle laughed, and asked Robert for a basket of breadsticks.

"I want to hear who's singing tonight," she told him when he complained.

"If it isn't you, then who cares," he grumbled, but smiled when Elle kissed his cheek at his backhanded compliment.

"I'll admit that I love to sing, but I also love to listen," she said. "Besides, it is supposed to be a band tonight rather than a singer with the orchestra. I heard they had graduated to a bit of rock one day a week."

Dick's eyebrow raised. "And today's that day?"

He found he was interested in spite of himself. Like Elle, he had a broad range of music that he enjoyed listening to.

The breadsticks came, fresh and piping hot, with butter and marinara sauce and shredded parmesan cheese. Robert set them down directly in front of Elle, but he winked at Dick, letting the couple know he was in on the chef's joke. Elle glanced over to the kitchen and grinned. Chef Raymond stood in the doorway frowning. Elle made a big show of miming her appreciation of his food that had both the chef and Dick and Robert laughing. Raymond finally smiled and sketched a charming bow before disappearing into his kitchen to terrorize his help.

Robert sighed. "I apologize for your dinner," he told Dick. "But Raymond has Elle's singing piped into the kitchen and is very fond of her. When she quit, he was quite ready to go out and commit a little murder on her behalf. Word has yet to reach him of your dramatic rescue."

"Dramatic rescue? All I did was donate a pint of blood," Dick blinked. "I wish I could have been there to prevent it, but I didn't arrive until after she had gotten to the hospital."

"Stop being humble," Elle admonished gently. "You arrived in time to save my life." She looked up at Robert. "I would definitely have died without him. You go and assure Raymond of that. We will come back in a few days to have dinner again," she ignored Dick's groan, "and he can make it up to Dick at that time."

That last was said with a certain force, impressing on Robert that Elle meant business. She had allowed him his little revenge tonight, but the man had better outdo himself when she brought Dick back next week. Robert nodded, and then quickly bent and pressed a kiss to Elle's temple.

"It is good to see you again," he said. "I will spread the word. No more revenge on your . . . ahem, fiancé."

"You do that," she laughed, and squeezed his hand.

Robert was like a big brother, and he gave great advice. He had quietly admonished her not to jump to conclusions and remain calm during the three weeks she had been slowly going out of her mind. He had been the only one to _not_ tell her to stop accepting Dick's texts.

"I'll do my best, but there are some hotheads out there, you know," Robert smiled and left the table as Dick ate his third breadstick.

Elle turned back to Dick and promptly burst out laughing.

"What?" He mumbled around a mouthful of bread and marinara. "I'm hungry!"

"I can see that, but you probably shouldn't eat a breadstick with such gusto and appreciation," she warned, snickering. "Unless you _want_ admirers."

He blinked and turned his head slowly in the direction she had been looking. Two men at a nearby table were watching him. They were obviously a couple, and when they realized Dick was staring at them, they both winked and waved. Elle burst into what Dick would later describe as inappropriate laughter to which he would then accuse her of failing to rise in his honor. She snorted.

She attempted to ease the sting of his embarrassment. "It's all right. You can't help it that you are just so gorgeous that men as well as women think you are yummy."

"Did you have to say 'yummy'?" Dick groused, his stomach was still growling.

"Well, you have to admit, those two looked ready to . . ."

"Don't say it!" Dick interrupted her.

Thankfully, the band came out at that moment, as the orchestra moved off the stage. As the restaurant was smoothly transformed into a dance club, Morris came around to join their table. Elle stood up to greet her favorite bassist.

"I was beginning to think I would never see you again," Morris accused her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he pulled up a chair to join them.

"You have Dick to thank for that," she told him with a smile.

Dick paused in chewing as both parties gazed at him. He smiled and shrugged as humbly as he was able as he swallowed a lump of bread too soon. He choked a little and Elle handed him a glass of wine. Morris leaned in to slap him enthusiastically on the back just as he took a sip. Dick spewed wine across the tablecloth, but at least the bread went down. He threw a look of disgust at the bassist. Friend of Elle's or not, the guy was asking for it. He flexed his back muscles, certain he would have a bruise there by morning.

"Morris," Elle frowned at him, but the band leader didn't even remotely look apologetic. "Dick saved my life!"

"But at what cost, Elle? Your freedom?"

Morris glared at Dick as the latter shoved the basket of bread away regretfully. It was just too dangerous to try to eat with the other man sitting so near.

Elle smirked. "Oh, heard about that, did you?"

"They probably heard it on the upper east end," Morris remarked. "Brian was pacing and prowling and snarling at everyone the next day."

"He takes this a little too personally," Elle commented. When Dick snorted, she sent him a glare, but softened it with a smile.

Morris leaned back in his chair. "So," he said, glancing back and forth between them. "Is it true?"

The couple looked at each other and then back at Morris, both a picture of innocence. Morris sat up and leaned forward, frowning. "Oh, come on! You sent the man practically insane for the past week and you aren't even engaged?"

Dick shrugged. "It was the only way they would let me in to see her."

Morris looked at Elle. "And you're okay with this? Everyone thinks you two are an item now; that Elle's off the menu."

"Hey!" Elle punched the man in the arm. "I am not, nor ever was, an item on a menu."

Dick leaned in and whispered in her ear as he nuzzled her neck shamelessly. "If you were on the menu, I would no longer be hungry."

Just like that Elle burst out laughing. Dick could always make her laugh, and cry, and be angry, and fall so in love that she felt like she was drowning in it; and she could be happy about it all. Morris smiled; watching her. So did every person in hearing distance.

Morris reached across Elle, extending his hand. "Anyone who can make her that happy, I guess, deserves another chance. Peace."

Dick eyed the hand warily for a second before clasping the hand and shaking it. Morris was a friend of Elle's; he wanted her to have friends, people she could turn to if he weren't available.

"Peace," he said. "Uh, does this mean it's safe to eat my breadsticks now?" His stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard over the band.

Morris laughed. "Please. You're drowning out the band. Not good for business!"

"Where is Brian this evening? We haven't seen him at all," Elle asked.

"That's probably a good thing. He's still pretty pissed," Morris told her. "He left for home just minutes after you got here. Likely as not, he didn't see you. If he had, Fiancé over there would have been bounced out on his ear."

Elle pursed her lips. It was probably for the best that they missed him then. She would need to call him or maybe come down to the restaurant before it opened to talk with him alone. She liked everyone here and wanted to be able to come back with Dick whenever she wanted. If she did decide to take up singing again, her eyes flitted towards the man who held her heart, she wanted him in the audience. She wanted them to get along.

She waited until Dick ate another three breadsticks before grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the dance floor.

"Come on," she grinned at him. "You promised me a dance!"

Dick obliged her, but he kept an eye out on his remaining two breadsticks. He had a feeling he was going to need the carbs tonight.

* * *

**Last Chance has reached over 10,000 views as of 5-7-15 . . . Dancing around the table! Thank you, everyone who has followed this story from its inception; especially all those who have been kind enough to leave me such wonderful reviews! And most especially those guest reviewers! This story is ongoing . . . Eventually I will draw this particular part to a close and pick it back up in a sequel. As far as I'm concerned, this will never have an ending. ;D**


	39. Discovery Part 1

**POV switches between Elle and Nightwing. I separate them with a line, so it should be easy enough to follow.**

**WARNING: Language . . .**

* * *

Elle walked out to her car, unlocked it, and climbed in. She was tugging off her coat, pausing to wave to Morris as he pulled out of the parking lot. Elle hated driving wearing something bulky. It felt like she couldn't move as fast while weighted down by all that heavy material. The car would warm up soon enough, so she shouldn't need it until she got home.

It felt good to be back at Chez Donovan's. She had missed it. She and Dick agreed that she would go on performing, albeit only two nights a week now. They would proceed cautiously to see if her fans became as obsessed as those of her mother and grandmother. It went without saying that Elle would not seek out fame. Even singing in a nightclub made Dick nervous since discovering the extent of her vocal '_talents_'.

She put her key into the ignition and turned it . . . And nothing happened! Her mouth dropped open and she glared at the steering wheel as if it were somehow at fault. She had just picked the car up this afternoon from the mechanic's! How could it not start now?

She tried it again, and then once more before flopping back against her seat in frustration and a hint of despair. _Stupid_ car! Stupid _her_! She should have known better, but she thought she was making a good choice. Dick was right. She should have bought new, or at least a not-so-old used. Obviously the vehicle was on its last wheels.

Elle fumbled with her bag and located her cell phone. She nearly cried when she saw that it was almost out of battery. Grabbing the charger, she plugged it in and set her phone to recharging . . . except it wasn't. She felt especially stupid now. Of course it wouldn't charge if the car battery was dead. Unplugging the phone, she wondered if she had enough charge to place a quick call. Dick would want her to call him, but he was working tonight and Bludhaven being what it was, she hated to interrupt him in the middle of something important for something stupid like this. She could try AAA first.

The call rang several times before she was put in a queue. Apparently, there were a lot of vehicle breakdowns tonight. After a couple of minutes, her phone was flashing a low battery warning. Elle hung up. Perhaps she should dial 911? It wasn't exactly an emergency, though. No one was threatening her and she wasn't bleeding. She didn't want to waste resources for something silly when there might be real emergencies out there depending on a quick response.

She blew out her breath and glanced around the deserted parking lot. Funny, how all that pavement between where she had parked and the restaurant hadn't seemed that great a distance earlier in the evening. Now, it was like the incredible journey to get back. She could just go back inside and call a tow truck or maybe she should just get a cab to take her home. She could take care of the car tomorrow . . . Have it towed to the junkyard or something.

"Aw, damn it," she muttered, disgusted.

She tugged her keys from the ignition and searched out the restaurant key. She grabbed her coat and bag, but didn't bother to put it on; rather she tossed it over one arm. Slamming and locking her door, although why she bothered she didn't know, Elle headed back toward the restaurant.

She was nearly there when a man stepped out of the shadows across the street. Elle stumbled, hesitating. Should she still try to get into the restaurant? Could she get the door unlocked and get inside before he could get to her? She gauged the distance and considered her high heels. She was still closer to the car than the man was to the restaurant. Decision made, Elle turned on her heel and started back to the relative safety of the car as quickly as she could go.

Halfway back, movement caught her eye and she turned her head to watch a second man climbing the fence surrounding the back of the parking lot. Okay, not good; but she was still reasonably close to the car. She could beat them both. She ran.

Elle reached the car and tried to force the key into the lock. It wouldn't go! Why wouldn't it go? Then she realized that she still had the restaurant key in her hand. She fumbled for the car key, and promptly dropped them on the pavement between her feet.

"_Shit_!"

The sound of her own voice startled her. What was she doing? She should have started screaming several minutes ago! She reached for her keys, groaning at the fact that she would have to search out the correct key again before she could get into the car. A set of sneakers stepped into view. Elle clutched the keys in her hand as she raised back up slowly, taking in as she did a pair of dark denim and a wool jacket zipped up tight. Elle stared into the amused face of a third man.

The other two men were nearly upon them. Their expressions were similar enough that Elle realized that they knew each other. This was something they did on a regular basis, she thought. They weren't nervous or scared; they were confident and apparently entertained by her panic. They moved in to surround her.

* * *

Nightwing flew through the air silently. Tonight there were no flips between releasing one line and shooting out the next. He was late.

He had promised himself that he wouldn't leave Elle to go home alone. If he couldn't escort her home as Dick Grayson, then he would do it from the rooftops as Nightwing. He had originally made that promise when he had heard of the man attacking her outside of her club. The guy had left gouges in her skin that had scarred, but only for a time. Already they were faded to nothing but faint pink lines along her forearms. Soon there would be nothing left to remind either of them of the incident.

Then he had left for three weeks while he struggled over the knowledge that her voice had power and worried that she had somehow manipulated him into loving her. Near the end of those three weeks, she had interrupted a mugging and almost lost her life for her good deed. Dick had renewed the vow to always watch her home, and tonight, he had taken too long in resolving a hostage situation and taking out the bad guy. Now he was late.

His mind kept saying that Elle was probably already home, tucked up into a blanket with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hand. Unfortunately, his gut was telling him to hurry. His mind said this was a waste of time; she was home safe, get back to patrol. His gut still insisted that he hurry.

He flew, but there was no joy in it tonight. He had to hurry!

* * *

Elle tried to remember what Dick had taught her. He dragged her down to the gym three nights a week and forced her to get out of different holds; to fight him from every angle and from every disadvantage, and through it all, he would pound it into her skull that she was to scream and, at the first opportunity, run!

This was going to be hard, she thought, fighting down her panic first so that she could fight her assailants effectively. There had only been one mugger, and look how that turned out. She had nearly died from blood loss. Now she was facing down three men.

"I don't have much money," she announced.

Two of the men smiled, but not one of the three even glanced in the direction of her bag. A fine tremor started then in her chest and deep in her belly. They weren't after her money. And she knew without thinking they weren't after her piece of shit car. There was only one thing left that she had of any value, but she'd be damned if she let them have _that_!

The car blocked one path, and with the other two closing in on her, she would soon lose any chance to run. Sliding one of her keys between her fingers, Elle did a one-eighty and ran. She darted around the car only to discover that the fence covered that way and the wall of a building blocked the rest.

As one of the men ran up to her, Elle slashed at his face; making him dodge and stumble to avoid damage. She ran around him and went straight for the street. Strong arms nabbed her around the waist from behind. Elle screamed for all that she was worth. Her assailant flinched but didn't let her go. She ripped through his skin of his arm with her keys, and he yelled. She swung her elbow up and behind her three times in rapid succession; hitting the guy in the face hard enough to loosen his grip. She spun around; stabbing him in the face with those handy keys.

The third man didn't give her a chance to slash at him as he plowed into her; knocking her to the hard pavement. He grabbed her hand and slammed it into the asphalt repeatedly until she cried out and she dropped the keys. His attention was on the key hand, so with her left hand, Elle flung her bag at him. With a couple of water bottles in there, it had a bit of weight. The bag hit him in the head, and shoved him enough offsides that Elle could scramble out from underneath him.

Her right hand throbbed and blood dripped from her abraded knuckles, so Elle scooped up the keys with her left. They were her best weapon and her only source of escape. The first guy was almost upon her as she tried to run again. She hadn't taken two steps before she heard a harsh thump of a solid impact behind her.

* * *

Dick's breath caught in his lungs at the sound of the scream. The fear that stabbed him was so great he nearly fell from his line. He knew in that second, without even consciously recognizing the voice, that the scream came from Elle. The fear in his gut told him. It was her fear, and now it mingled with his.

He didn't even have time to question why she was still out there in the parking lot. She should have been home already, but his brain had frozen when he had heard her scream. By the time he had landed on the building that lined the parking lot, Elle was fighting for all she was worth. One man was down, one was struggling with her, and another was trotting over in her direction. Three attackers? Why hadn't he shown her how to deal with multiple attackers yet?

Anger coursed through his system numbing his fear. Elle climbed out from under the guy she had just stunned with whatever had been in her bag and turned to run again. He shot a new grapple line. Seconds later he hit the man closing in on her, lifting him with his feet and dropping him several yards away from nearly a three story height. The crack that sounded when the guy landed announced that he wouldn't be getting up again without a walking cast and some extensive therapy.

He flipped; somersaulting several times in midair to slow his momentum enough to land safely. The other two men were climbing to their feet; one dripping blood from a gash on his face and arm. Elle, he saw in his periphery, had stopped and turned around to watch.

"_Run_," he yelled at her. "Get to the restaurant!"

She backed away, but didn't leave, _damn it_!

Both men rushed him. Nightwing didn't waste time. He didn't tease or taunt the men as was his usual method of operation. They had been after his girlfriend, and the only fatality of the night would be his mercy.

He threw two birdarangs simultaneously; hitting the men in the face and knocking them off of their feet. When the first one climbed back to his feet, Nightwing ran at him and went into a front handspring, catching the guy around the neck with his lower legs. Nightwing swung his body around his opponent while forcefully pulling the man around after him. The guy was flipped over and slammed into the pavement onto his back; knocking his breath out of him. Nightwing landed over him, straddling his body, and landed three, brutal punches to the man's face. The third punch caught his temple and the guy was out.

The last man standing was a bloody mess. He swayed precariously, holding his hands over his damaged nose; broken by the birdarang. His eyes finally focused on the scene before him. His two friends were down and out, and Nightwing was growling at him through clenched teeth. He wanted no part of this. He made the mistake of glancing at the woman, and the masked vigilante was immediately in front of him.

"You don't get to look at her," Nightwing snarled.

Grabbing him by his jacket, Nightwing shoved him backwards until he slammed the man into the chain-linked fence behind him. A flurry of punches and one flying roundhouse kick later, the guy knew no more.

Nightwing cuffed him to the fence, and then made short work dragging his buddies over to join him. It wasn't until all three were secured and unconscious that he turned to their victim.

Elle was standing, staring at him; looking stunned. He did a quick visual inspection. Her clothing was dirty and her slacks were torn. He could see even from this distance that her knee was scraped and bleeding. There was blood dripping from one hand, but he couldn't see where it was coming from. Where was her coat? Why was she alone in the parking lot? Where was Igor or Brian or Morris, _damn it_?

"Thank you. Those guys seemed to come out of nowhere."

Nightwing looked over his shoulder at the men. He wanted to wake them up and beat them unconscious all over again.

"Call 911," he told her. "Get in your car and wait for the police."

"I . . . Um, I can't," she said breathlessly. "My cell phone died."

Nightwing frowned. "So charge it in your car."

She seemed to flinch. "My car won't start. I already tried to charge it. That was why I was trying to get back to the restaurant; so I could call a cab."

"_What_?" Her words made him see red. "How could your car not start?"

He had dropped her off just that afternoon to pick it up at the garage! That bastard had taken her money and let her drive away when the car wasn't fixed? Nightwing growled. He stomped over to that piece of shit Elle insisted on driving.

"Get in and pop your hood," he demanded, waving her to the driver's side door as he moved to stand in front of it.

* * *

Elle stopped gaping and ran to obey the obviously irritated hero. He seemed much more pleasant during the convenient store robbery she had witnessed months ago. It seemed a little strange that he should take her car problems so personally, however.

Her hands were shaking from the adrenaline crash now that the danger was over. It took her a couple of minutes to get the key into the lock, and slide behind the wheel. She pulled the latch that popped the hood and watched as (_holy shit_!) the freaking, bloody Nightwing put her hood up and started fiddling with her engine. Ever since she had seen him in action that one time, Elle read everything she could find about the vigilante. She never admitted to Dick just how much of a fangirl she was over the hero.

She bit her lip as she recounted every second of the fight. He was amazingly fit. That uniform he wore did nothing to hide his . . . _ahem_, assets. She felt a tiny bit of guilt as her mind helplessly noted and compared the sexy hero with her own super-sexy boyfriend. They looked to be the same height and even similar build. Same color hair, she thought, and even his jawline resembled Dick's. Dick would probably laugh if she pointed out to him the similarities . . . Or then again, maybe not!

Elle frowned, wondering if Dick would be jealous to know that she noticed all these things about another man. It would be ridiculous, though, because she thought that Dick could easily compare favorably to the vigilante should they stand side by side. Dick's eyes alone would place him several points ahead in the drop-dead gorgeous category.

"What the . . . _God damn it_! I am going to strangle that bastard when I get my hands on him!"

The familiarity of the voice that filtered from the other side of the hood startled her.

_Dick_? What was he doing here? How could he have even known she was still stranded in the parking lot?

"Try starting the car now," Dick told her.

"O-okay," she stammered, sliding the key into the ignition and turning it. The car made an aborted attempt to start. It sounded terrible, but was better than the simple clicking noise that had mocked her earlier attempts.

When had he arrived? Why had he not spoken to her yet? She bent her head down to peek through that little opening where the hood was hinged, and blinked. She saw only one figure, and he was in black.

"Try it again, now," Dick's voice floated to her.

Elle's mouth dropped open.

She slid out of the car and stood up slowly; peering carefully around the hood. Nightwing was leaning over the engine twisting something or another. No one else was with him.

"Elle, start the car . . ."

_Oh my God _. . .

* * *

**REACTIONS? OPINIONS? COMMENTS? C'mon, don't make me beg . . . **


	40. Discovery Part 2

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

"Did you hear me," he said, looking up. He saw her standing there and paused, contemplating the wide-eyed, gaping shock on her face. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

She moved slowly around the door and to the front of the car. He turned to face her. She looked gobsmacked; like someone had hit her in the head with a two-by-four. Had she hit her head during the attack? He was beginning to think that he should have checked her physically for injuries rather than just visually, but he honestly didn't think she had been seriously hurt; just roughed up a bit and frightened.

"How did I not see it immediately," she asked in an awe-laden voice; her gaze searching his face. "Now that I know, it is so obvious!"

Nightwing blinked behind his lenses. "I don't understand," he said carefully. "What's obvious?"

Elle continued as if she were talking to herself. One hand moved up to touch his hair; to trace his jawline. "Everything is there! It's all the same, and yet I had no idea; no clue at all until just now."

He raised a hand and gently caught her wrist. He pulled it down, but didn't let go of it. He suddenly knew exactly what she was talking about, but he continued to play dumb . . . Just in case. He didn't want to confirm something, only to discover afterwards that she had been talking about something else entirely.

"No clue about what, exactly?"

She was shivering, he noted. The long-sleeved, silk blouse she was wearing with wool slacks wasn't enough coverage to ward off the cold.

"The eyes see only what they expect to see," she said, blinking; her eyes focusing on his behind their lenses. "When you showed up and I turned around, I only saw a blur at first. Then I realized who the costume and mask belonged to, and it was as if that was all I could see. I recognized Nightwing, and even though in the back of my mind, I noticed that you had the same height and build; the same hair and jawline; the same mouth and ears and breadth of shoulders . . . My God, even your _ass_ looked familiar!"

Nightwing smiled, in spite of himself. "You were looking at my ass?"

Elle slapped a hand over her mouth and laughed, even as she shuddered with cold. She shook her head in complete amazement.

"It's hilarious, really, wh-when you think about it," she grinned, delighted. "I was sitting in the car just n-now, feeling guilty as I was mentally comparing the . . . the two of you, and it didn't even c-click until you s-spoke."

Okay, he thought, she knows. Even if she didn't come right out and use names, he knew that she had him pegged. He frowned, unsure if he should be upset or relieved. Although he had acknowledged already that he would have to tell her, he hadn't expected to do so just yet. He realized, however, he should have just come right out immediately and admitted it as soon as he understood that this was going to be forever between them. Well, as soon as she was home from the hospital . . . or maybe the night she had forgiven him and finally deigned to speak to him again . . .

He sighed. Okay, the morning after . . . Definitely, he should have said something the morning after. Although how he might have done that all considering the events of the morning after, he wasn't sure.

_Oh, by the way_, he could have told her as he made love to her with the dawn's rays spilling over their naked bodies, _I'm not actually working the nightshift for the department. I'm actually the masked vigilante that you dressed up as for Halloween. I run about on rooftops in that skin-tight costume that you had so admired and kick criminals' asses._

Yeah, he was pretty sure that would have been a mood-killer.

And the perfect week they had enjoyed between that moment and this wouldn't have happened. He was pretty sure, in fact, that it would have been a replay of the four days of silence he had already endured, and quite possibly meant more sneaking past her building's security, and picking the brand-new lock he was positive Elle would have installed within the hour upon that announcement.

He couldn't help but wonder if his assumption was going to be prophetic of their immediate future. Her delight in her discovery was going to stall as information finally began to settle in. Any moment now . . . Here it comes; in three, two, one . . .

The joy in her eyes slowly seeped away as her brows came down. Her infectious smile disappeared as her lips flattened in consternation.

"Wh-when were you p-planning on telling me," she asked. The chill in her tone made the twenty degree weather feel almost balmy. "Or d-didn't you think I had a r-right to know?"

"You should put on your coat now," he said, noticing how violently she was shuddering now. The wind was picking up a bit. "Where is it?"

"Wh-what?" She was stammering. Her teeth had begun chattering quite a while ago.

He glanced around the parking lot and quickly located it halfway between the car and the fence where the three would-be rapists were cuffed. His jaw clenched as the memory of Elle fighting for her life flashed before his eyes again. A growl rose up in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone with those three for the next thirty minutes. Ten minutes with each of them would guarantee that thoughts of women never again crossed their minds without the corresponding loosening of the bowels immediately following suit.

"D-Dick!"

"No names," he snapped at her.

He winced when she flinched at his anger. It was enough to cool his temper, however. He wasn't angry with her . . . Just with the situation; with Brian and Igor and every other man that worked in the club with her that failed to walk her out and make certain that she wasn't stranded in a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night in a town that could still make most grown men shit their pants after dark. Nightwing shook his head . . . Grown men were afraid, but not his Elle. He sighed. Never Elle.

"Wait here," he barked, but his tone was softer this time.

He walked to the coat, and bent to pick it up. It was tan and made of a quality wool that was soft and warm. And it had flecks of blood across it. There were more dark spots staining the pavement in the light of the streetlamps a couple of yards away. He ran his gloved thumb across the damp spots on the coat. This was someone else's blood, he determined based upon his quick assessment of Elle's injuries. It belonged to one of those men. Blood that Elle herself had drawn from one of them.

That blood; those spots near where her purse lay . . . That belonged to Elle. It wasn't much, all considering, but every drop of her blood was precious. If she needed blood, there was no place in the city that had a supply of it that she could use; no one who could save her life except him, and he was limited to just a pint at a time.

He kept a small supply in his apartment. Just a couple of pints was all. If he needed more than that, he was up shit creek anyway. He knew Bruce kept a larger supply of his blood on hand in the Batcave, but even then when all was said and done, Bruce himself shared his blood type and was compatible should Nightwing need more. But Elle only had him.

He would start tomorrow, he determined as he moved to retrieve her bag. He would collect a pint for Elle every two weeks until he had at least six pints of his blood on hand for her express use. He should get her to give blood once a month, and have it kept in storage at the hospital if ever there was a time he couldn't be there. Four pints of her own precious bagged blood against the probability that she might become seriously injured a second time in city that routinely bled out its own lifeblood in its alleyways every night.

When he turned back to Elle, he saw she was sitting in the open door of her car in the driver's seat. He could see her shivering even from a distance. He trotted over to her with her belongings in his hands. Even roughed up, Elle's classic elegance shone through, making the sight of her sitting in that car-shaped piece of scrap metal incongruous at best.

He sat her bag down on the pavement between her feet as he helped her on with her coat; sliding first one arm and then the other into the sleeves as if she were a child. Hair tousled and a slight scrape on her chin did nothing to hide her beauty; but the combination of the adrenaline crash and the bitter cold had made her clumsy. He needed to get her home.

He buttoned up the coat, and then turned to close the hood of the car. He hadn't fixed it, though if he took the time, he knew he could with some effort. The vehicle had seen better days and needed a slew of new parts. He still hated the thing, ridiculous as it sounded to blame an inanimate object for the bad decision made by its owners, but twice this hunk of junk had created the circumstances that had put Elle into danger. If he had his way, he would drive it off of the pier down by the docks and let the fish have it.

He didn't understand why she liked this piece of crap she called a car except that he thought that maybe she believed it gave her some measure of freedom without leaving her beholden to her father. That, he knew, was important to her. And it was like what she had told Damian about how she felt about him weeks ago; he loved her, and because he loved her, whatever was important to her also became important to him.

His eyes found his girlfriend through the windshield as he slammed the hood down. She wasn't looking at him, but staring off into the distance. She was in shock, and the effects of it were just beginning to show. He had planned to take her to her apartment, but he had more medical supplies at his place, and it wasn't as if he had anything to hide from her anymore.

He hadn't talked to Babs in months. He seldom, if ever, relied on Oracle anymore as a result, even though making use of her skills and connections would make his nightwork a whole hell of a lot easier. It just hadn't been comfortable, and although Bruce was an expert at separating his emotions from his night personae, Dick wasn't nearly as proficient at it.

He tapped the comlink, expecting a certain measure of discomfort, but interestingly all he felt was a vague sense of awkwardness.

"_Oracle_." Bab's voice floated into his ear. "_Nightwing_? _What's wrong_?"

Maybe he would have found a certain satisfaction at the concern he could hear in her voice a few months ago, but right now all he felt was gratitude that she picked up his call. His gaze fell on Elle, and his worry ratcheted up a notch as he noticed her beginning to nod off. It was too cold to just fall asleep normally, and drowsiness was a sign of hypothermia. He moved around so that he could see if she was still shivering, whether her pallor had improved or worsened, or if her lips were turning blue.

"_Nightwing_? _Dick,_ a_re you all right_?"

He hadn't given Babs any reason to believe he was injured, but after not hearing from him in months and the fact that he was slow to answer, Dick thought he understood her assumption.

"Oracle," he said. He wanted this to remain professional. "I need you to contact the Bludhaven Police Department for me. Tell them there is a pick up at my location; three perps. Aggravated assault, attempted robbery, and . . ." his temper flared again when he considered what might have happened had he decided to swing by her apartment instead of coming here first. "Attempted rape," he said, ending on a growl.

After all, how hard would it have been to grab the bag out of her hand and run? The car was an obvious waste of time, and even Elle's assailants had realized that. There was only one thing left that they could have wanted from her.

"_You could have contacted them yourself. What's going on_?_ Are you injured_?"

"I'm busy with the victim. She's showing signs of emotional shock and mild hypothermia. It's too dangerous to leave her waiting in the cold for the police to arrive."

She wasn't shivering anymore. Dick doubted the coat had a chance to warm her that much yet. It was impossible to tell the color of her lips because of the lipstick she was still wearing. He pulled a tissue out of her bag, and wiped the makeup away. Damn! The lipstick stain was interfering. They looked purple, he thought. The low level lighting out here also made it difficult to tell the color, but he thought they looked darker than they should. Her skin was still pasty pale.

"_What hospital are you taking her to so that I can relay that information to the police_? _They can meet her there and get her statement_."

He pulled off his gloves and picked up Elle's hand. It was like ice. He began chaffing it; a worthless attempt to draw blood to it. That wasn't what she needed now anyway. Drawing the blood to the extremities would only cool it, when right now it was receding to her body in an effort to retain its heat and prevent her organs from failing. Still, she wasn't into a truly dangerous level . . . yet.

"I'm not taking her to the hospital," he said. "I'm taking her home. Let the police know that she will be in in the morning to press charges and give a statement."

"_You know her_? _The victim, I mean_." Curiosity laced the words. He wasn't paying that close of attention, but it was enough that it broke through his distraction.

"I know her," he confirmed.

"_You realize you might just be risking your identity by taking her home, don't you_? _She might figure out who you are if you show you know her well enough to have her address_."

Dick frowned. Curiosity and was that a hint of jealousy? Considering how she had been treating him for the last ten, or was it eleven, months now, he was a little bit stunned. And amused. How ironic that she should become jealous of some amorphous female after he had already given his heart away to another. He almost laughed, but Elle chose that moment to pitch forward.

His heart did a little flip, but she was already coming around. She still seemed dazed and a bit out of it to him though. He wasn't sure how much of her stupor was from shock or from a dangerously low body temperature while out here. He didn't want to take her to a hospital again, if he could avoid it.

"Elle, can you hear me? Talk to me," he demanded.

Relief flooded him as her eyes focused on him, even briefly.

"H-how long? How long h-have you b-been . . ." She stuttered, but her teeth had stopped chattering. Not a good sign, but she wasn't as completely out of it as he had feared.

"Sh. Not here," he interrupted her; reminding her of their insecure surroundings.

Tension eased a bit as she nodded in understanding. No, she didn't need a hospital. She needed some warm milk and an electric blanket and to be pressed up against him while under it . . . And if that wasn't enough, he could think of some aerobic exercise they could try to get her blood pumping and her body temperature elevated. His lips quirked up at the idea.

"_Oh my God_!_ She knows_? _What the hell, Dick_?" Oracle's voice sounded shocked. "_Does Bruce know about this_?"

Dick sighed. He forgot that she would be able to overhear his conversation; another sign of his distraction. It was just as well. He was done for the evening anyway. "Did you contact the police yet?"

There was a pause as Babs considered what his silence on the subject might mean. "_I did. They should be arriving soon_," she said.

"You obviously don't know Bludhaven's police force all that well. Thanks for that. Nightwing out." Nightwing broke the connection and turned the comlink off.

Taking Elle's key to the restaurant, Nightwing picked up her bag and then picked up Elle. She hung over his shoulder slightly, but was alert enough to lift herself a bit as he trotted off for warmer climes. He would scrounge some civilian clothing out of the back of the club and call for a cab. Once Elle was warm and comfortable and resting, Nightwing would go back out and collect his bike.

He didn't dare leave it until morning. This was Bludhaven, after all.

* * *

**REACTIONS? OPINIONS? COMMENTS?**


	41. The Talk

**I changed things up a little bit. Damian became Robin BEFORE Bruce's supposed death, but still at Dick's prompting.**

**Warning: Language and Suggestive Innuendo . . .**

* * *

"Would you quit fussing? I'm perfectly fine now," Elle huffed. She was tucked up into bed, and now Dick was shoving a cup of hot tea at her. "I don't want tea," she complained.

"It's not tea," he told her. "It's hot chocolate."

Elle paused, eyeing the mug. "Hot chocolate?"

His mouth quirked. He knew he had her now. "I couldn't find the marshmallow cream, so I used those tiny marshmallows instead."

Elle was reaching for it almost before he stopped talking. "Tiny marshmallows? I _love_ tiny marshmallows," she told him; a small smile quirking up one side of her mouth.

The smile turned into a frown as she looked down into the mug. "There's only, like . . . _five_ marshmallows in here! I can still see the hot chocolate. What? Am I so poor all of a sudden that I can't afford a new bag of tiny marshmallows? Did the tiny marshmallow factory go out of business so that I have to be portioned out only five tiny marshmallows a mug over the next decade or something?"

Dick asked her seriously. "Elle, would you like a few more tiny marshmallows?"

She smiled and shoved the mug back at him. He pushed it back to her. "You start on it. I'll bring you some more marshmallows," he told her; grinning openly now.

"Bring the bag," she called after him as he headed to the kitchen.

Now that she realized how stingy he was with the marshmallows, she wanted to supervise the marshmallow addition herself. She took a sip, reveling in the flood of warmth throughout her system. It was good, so she took another sip and glanced into the mug with a satisfied expression. There was room now for lots and lots of tiny marshmallows, she thought smugly.

Dick walked back in with the bag. She frowned and shook her head when he started to shove his hand into the bag. Dick paused a moment and then tipped the bag up so that the little marshmallows slid directly into her mug. Neither spoke as the marshmallows began filling the top of the cup. Dick's eyebrows rose and he glanced at Elle, but she was sighing happily at the flood of marshmallows. When it reached the top of the mug, one marshmallow rolled off of the pile and onto her blanket-covered lap, Elle called a halt.

"You can have that one," she pronounced, indicating the marshmallow on the bed.

Dick laughed as he twisted the plastic bag shut and set it on the bedside table. Elle looked pleased. He was learning.

He picked up the one tiny marshmallow and held it between his finger and thumb. "Are you sure you wouldn't like this one, too?"

Elle bit her lip as she eyed the confection with obvious yearning. "Oh," she said, regretfully. "I couldn't take yours."

Dick laughed again. After this night, he hadn't expected to find laughter again for a while. He had totally expected Elle to be angry with him once she was warm and with it. She wasn't exactly singing his praises, but how mad could she be if she could tease him like this.

"I'm willing to share," he told her. "But you have to meet me halfway."

Intrigued, Elle took a sip of her hot chocolate before setting the mug down on the bedside table. "Oookay," she agreed hesitantly.

Dick put the little marshmallow between his lips and waited. Elle's eyes sparkled with good humor and more than a little interest. When she leaned forward. Dick scooted backward a few inches on the bed.

Elle paused to contemplate him before pushing the covers down a bit and leaning further towards him. Dick scooted backwards a little more. Grinning now, Elle crawled out of the covers and stalked him. Dick moved back a little more, and Elle leapt forward in an effort to tackle him, but he was near the foot of the bed now and he fell off onto the floor with a yelp and a thump. Elle grinned down at him from where she lay sprawled across the top.

"Do I still get the marshmallow?"

Dick crooked his finger at her.

Elle slithered off of the bed. She wore an extra-large t-shirt and not much else. Hardly the look of a femme fatale, but it more than worked for her. She crawled over Dick supine form, and halted; straddling him on all fours. She pursed her lips as she pondered his Nightwing uniform that he still wore.

"So, how does this thing work," she asked. Her long, dark-brown hair landed in his face as Elle bent her head to look down his Nightwing costumed-covered body underneath her. "This thing doesn't leave a whole lot to the imagination," she remarked. "It doesn't exactly disguise the fact that you are . . . um, _happy_ to be here." She smirked down at him within the tunnel of her hair.

Dick laughed and dragged her hips down so that she was sitting astride him. "Of course," he murmured around the marshmallow. "I'm always happy to be wherever you are."

"_I can tell_," she told him. "Now, give me that marshmallow. I've earned it!"

She leaned down on top of him and took her time retrieving her sweet reward from him as he educated her thoroughly on the secret ins and outs of his costume.

* * *

Later, as they snuggled, tucked back into Elle's bed, she played with Dick's mask.

"You'd do better to have a cowl like Bruce's," she murmured. "But I like this. It's damned sexy."

He didn't even bother pretending that Bruce wasn't Batman. Elle wasn't stupid. Hell, the first time she had met him as Nightwing after dating him as Dick Grayson she had figured it out within minutes.

"Hm, next time I'll wear the mask and nothing else," he growled against her neck. Elle squealed, but arched her neck to give him better access.

Elle giggled. "I can't believe I showed up at Bruce's house with a Nightwing costume for the party. Oh my God! And I forced that horrible Batman atrocity on you . . ." Her giggles disintegrated into full blown laughter now. "Oh no, what must Bruce have thought?"

Dick laughed with her as he leaned back on the pillow. "I've never heard him laugh like that," he said; his grin turning thoughtful. "No, not ever. Elle," he turned onto his side to face her. "You've given me, and Bruce," Dick suddenly remembered Damian dancing in the music room, "Damian . . . All of us! You've given all of us the greatest gift I think we've ever received."

Elle turned on her side to face him, also. "Really? And what gift is that?"

A look of wonder crossed his face as he gazed into her eyes. "Happiness."

"Happiness?" Puzzled, she stared at him. "How can you say that? You act as though none of you were ever happy before."

Dick smiled and touched his finger playfully to the tip of her nose. "Oh, we've all been happy before, but not like this . . ." he assured her. "Not for a very, very long time."

He could tell she didn't believe him.

"It's true, Elle! I've heard Bruce laugh before, but it was always like a chuckle; never a full-bodied laugh like he did on Halloween. He laughed until he couldn't breathe and he had tears sliding down his face! Elle, I've never been able to get him to relax enough to laugh so openly, and Lord knows that I've tried." Dick told her. "No, it took you to do it."

"Dick, I wasn't even in the room!"

"It doesn't matter. You were behind it all," Dick declared confidently.

Elle narrowed her eyes and pursed her beautiful mouth. "What you mean is that I got that ridiculous costume for you and your family went hysterical making fun of you."

"All for a good cause," he assured her. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat to hear Bruce laugh like that some more . . . And Damian! Even Damian was snickering after he threatened to kill me if I wore it outside! And you had him dancing and smiling . . ."

Dick suddenly rolled over on top of her; holding himself above her on one elbow while he cupped her face with the other hand. "If I hadn't been head over heels in love with you already . . . I could fall in love with you all over again just for what you've done for my family," he declared.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he whispered against her lips.

She kissed him back with utter abandon, knowing all the while that he was full of it. She wasn't the best thing that ever happened to him; _**he**_ was the best thing that ever happened to her!

* * *

The sun was peeking through the blinds when Elle opened her eyes next. She stretched her arms over her head and glanced at the space beside her. Dick Grayson was a bed hog! It didn't seem to matter where she settled in the bed, he would quickly scooch closer until he was cuddling her like a teddy bear.

She slid as carefully out from under his heavy arm as she could to avoid waking him until she lightly thumped onto the floor. Elle slapped a hand over her mouth to contain a squeal! It was freaking cold! Especially on bare skin . . .

She gained her feet and raced to the closet. Her hand hovered over the terrycloth robe that would provide her the most warmth as she eyed the sexy, short, silk robe next to it. The silk wouldn't provide near the same level of warmth . . . In fact, it would almost guarantee that she would be naked again in short order once Dick got a glimpse of it.

She shivered.

Decided, Elle grabbed the terrycloth robe. She could turn up the heat and if Dick didn't wake up before it got toasty warm in the apartment, she could always change. She shoved her feet into her Fozzy Bear Muppet slippers and padded her way to the kitchen, taking what was left of her mug of hot chocolate and sticky mini-marshmallows with her.

Sighing regretfully as she poured the wasted drink out, she put on a pot of water to boil. Mornings were for tea . . .

It was time to talk.

She carried a tray with the tea on it back to her bedroom. She grinned as she reached the threshold at the spectacle before her. Dick was stretched catty-cornered from one end of the bed to the other. One bare foot hung off the end nearest her, and his head, shoulders and one bare arm peeked out of her pink and lilac flowered comforter on the other end. Despite the total femininity of her bed linens, or maybe because of it, Dick seemed to radiate masculinity.

The sides and back of his hair was short, as per regulation for the Bludhaven Police Department, but the top was longer and hung over his forehead; almost, but not quite in his eyes. The pastels of the comforter made his skin seem even duskier. She bit her lip at the attractive picture he presented as the butterflies in her belly began swarming.

Would it always be like this?

She shook off her bemusement and marched forward. It was time to talk.

* * *

She sat cross-legged opposite from him on the bed. Dick took a sip of the tea. He was waiting for this . . . The Talk. He was glad she had chosen to wait until morning for it. Emotions and adrenaline would have likely not ended things well. As it was, they were both warm, relaxed, and mellow.

"How long have you been Nightwing," she asked without preliminaries. "I had only heard about you in passing on the news."

"Approximately six years," he answered lightly.

She looked startled. "You were eighteen? What made you decide to fight crime? Was it because of Bruce?"

Dick sighed. "Partly. But the idea was mine. I would have done it with or without Bruce's support . . . Which was one of the reasons he chose to support me." He shrugged. "I was less likely to end up dead, that way."

"Did you always know that Bruce was . . . Batman?" Elle whispered the last part, making Dick chuckle.

"I knew within six weeks or so of moving into the manor."

Elle blinked. "But didn't you move into the manor after your parents died?"

Dick nodded. "It was a few months before my ninth birthday."

"How was that," she asked. "Oh, I mean, growing up with Batman for a father."

"I'm not sure I have anything to compare it to," Dick answered.

"But didn't it interfere with other things? Like after school events and the like?"

Dick tilted his head as he considered her. "I didn't do a lot of after school events," he said, evenly. "Elle, I was fighting crime even before I was Nightwing. You realize that, right?" At her look of confusion, he clarified. "I was Robin before I became Nightwing."

"Robin? But I met Robin!"

Dick grinned. "You met Damian's Robin," he told her. "Robin's been around a lot longer than Damian, though."

Elle set her cup down. "I don't understand."

"**_I_** was the first Robin," he said.

"The _first_ . . . Robin," she repeated slowly. "Exactly how many Robins have there been?"

"A few. How did you not know this?"

"Pfft," Elle threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. Dick was going on the assumption that she knew something of Gotham City's history. "How would I know this? I'm from _**Chicago**_! I only heard about Batman in relation to the news reports about the Justice League. I didn't even know what city he was based out of until after moving to Bludhaven!"

She sighed. "So, you were the first Robin. When did that happen?"

Dick chuckled, looking a little chagrined. "Oh, um, around nine."

Elle blinked. "Nine . . . what?"

"Nine years old." He smiled hesitantly, as if he were expecting some kind of reaction.

Elle's mouth dropped open. "Nine years . . ." Then she smiled. "You mean, you started training at nine."

Dick cleared his throat. "Actually, I was still eight when I began training. I went out into the field with Batman a few months after I turned nine."

Her eyes widened. "Th-that's**_ preposterous_**! Who in the right mind would take a nine year old out to fight crime?"

Dick didn't say anything.

Elle stared at him for several long minutes.

He was expecting a reaction; he got it.

Elle scrambled off of the bed and shot off into the living room.

Startled, Dick ran after her. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but running from him wasn't it. He entered the living room off of the short hallway to discover Elle fumbling around for her phone. She had grabbed at it so hard and fast, it had went skittering across the hardwood floor. She lunged for it, but Dick grabbed her around the waist before she could make contact with the floor.

"Elle, wait! Stop! What are you doing?"

"I'm going to call him up and give him a piece of my mind, that's what I'm going to do," she yelped.

"Who? Who are you going to call up?" Dick had to struggle to hang onto her.

_"Bruce_," she hollered. "How dare he put you in the field at such a young age? _What_ was that man thinking?"

She froze suddenly. Dick nearly dropped her as she caught him off guard.

"_Damian_ is Robin? How long has **_he_** been Robin?" She squirmed around until she was facing him.

"Actually, Damian being Robin was my idea . . ." He began. His voice tapered off at the look in her eye.

"You're _crazy_," she yelled at him. "You are_ all_ crazy! Bruce made you crazy! Where's that phone?! I'm going to let him have it!"

She started struggling against him again. Dick lifted Elle off of her feet and one of her heels promptly connected with his shin.

"**_Ow_**!" He yelped. "Elle, cut it out! Calm down and let's talk this out."

She struggled a bit more, but as she was no closer to escaping him than she had been earlier, Elle settled down slowly. She huffed as she glared at him.

"You were just a _child_! You've had no childhood!"

Dick gave her a small smile. "Elle, I haven't been a child since my parents died. Their death wasn't an accident, sweetheart. They were murdered and I was a witness. I never gave Bruce a choice when it came to the creation of Robin," he said, a little sadly. "I wanted justice and would have went searching for it alone, if he had not helped me. I very likely would have only found my own death had it not been for Bruce. As it was, Batman and Robin caught the man responsible for my parents' death." He sighed. "I've been doing this ever since."

Her eyes grew damp. "B-but Damian . . ."

"Damian's mother is the head of a terrorist organization called the League of Shadows. He's not defenseless, and his childhood was even shorter than mine or Bruce's."

"You trained him?" Elle's voice was small.

He felt the tension draining from Elle's form. He loosened his hold a bit, but kept his arms around her. "Bruce trained him. I helped. It was his mother, however, that had turned him into an assassin before we even knew he existed."

"A . . . A-an _assassin_?"

"Um . . . Yeah, we're still working on that bit," he admitted. He sighed. "Are you regretting going out for coffee with me now?"

Elle had an odd, dazed look on her face when she finally deigned to answer his question. "Can I think about that for a little bit before answering that question," she said, weakly.

Dick gulped, and released her. She wandered back into the bedroom as he slumped onto the sofa. He just hoped her silence wouldn't last as long as last time.

* * *

**REACTIONS? OPINIONS? COMMENTS?**

**You have to know what Elle is thinking right now . . . Bruce has got the worst taste in women! ;D**


	42. Snowfall

**In this AU, Bludhaven is approximately 150 miles south of Chicago, and Gotham City just on the other side of the river, but the round about way Dick and Elle must travel to get through Bludhaven and around Gotham in order to get to Wayne Manor takes nearly another hour of travel time. Gotham City is comparable to New York City and Bludhaven is only a bit smaller. I'm not sure why I did this . . . Don't ask because I couldn't explain it if I tried, but for a little while I had been convinced that Gotham and Bludhaven were in Illinois and on Lake Michigan.**

**(In my other Bat-universe, Gotham City and Bludhaven is in New York State. Bludhaven is south of Gotham and closer to NYC. I believe this is closer to canon. But I get confused with all the changes that have been made throughout the decades that I have read, and missed reading, and have spent catching up that I'm lucky that I placed Gotham in America.) **

**Anyway - Enjoy!**

* * *

"You ready," Dick asked, holding out his hand.

Elle smiled, hitching her gym bag higher on her shoulder. Dick was serious about her learning self-defense. He was relentless; herding her here and working her until he felt as though she understood his original teachings better, could follow his new instructions with some amount of confidence, and then she had to show him she could get out of each of his holds at least once before he called it quits.

As with the first time here, the adrenaline rush had descended into a carnal one when Dick had followed her into the women's locker room afterwards. Elle was beginning to think that this particular perk was why he always chose to bring her here after closing time.

She knew she would be feeling the effects of her exertions tomorrow; _**all**__ of them_, she thought as the smile turned into more of a smirk. _Let's hear it for spiritual bonding_! _Yeah_! She had to admit, it was a lot more fun than the physical blood bond had been.

Her hair was a little damp still after her . . . ahem, _their_ shower. She wondered what the gym's water bill would be at the end of the month. She decided to put her hair up under a toboggan rather than let the cold wind to play with it. She had pulled the knitted hat onto her head. It wasn't like she would get a cold from going without, but even if she didn't get sick, Elle could still feel the bite of the wind and get hypothermia; an oddity of her mixed genetic make-up.

As they neared the glass door of the gym, they could see white flakes drifting down from the night sky in the glow of the streetlights.

"It's snowing," Elle squealed with joy.

Dick laughed. "I take it you like the snow?"

"Oh yeah! Well, at least in theory," Elle told him as she buttoned up her coat. "I'm not usually so far north in the winter months, so I miss seeing it more than not, but it always seems so magical."

This surprised him. "I thought you said that you lived in Chicago before moving to Bludhaven." Chicago was north of Bludhaven by approximately a hundred and fifty miles.

"I usually spend most of the winter in southern Italy," she replied as she started buttoning up Dick's coat for him. "Let's get you warm, shall we? I'd hate for you to get sick again. Do you want to borrow a hat?" Elle thought she had another tucked in her bag. She moved to dig it out, but Dick stopped her.

"I'll think I'll manage," Dick assured her as he turned to lock up. "Besides, I doubt there are any lakes between here and my apartment for us to fall into," he said as he shot her a quick grin.

* * *

Dick took her bag from her and used the handles to slip over his shoulders so that he could carry the duffle like a backpack. He took her hand in his and slipped it inside his coat pocket as they started walking the three blocks to his apartment. It was one o'clock in the morning and the streets looked deserted.

The cold spell they had had over the past week had been keeping crime down somewhat, but he didn't expect that perk of the weather to continue. While he hadn't found much to keep him busy as Nightwing lately, tis the season with only three weeks until Christmas, crime tended to rise significantly as criminals took advantage of more shoppers, more merchandise, and more money exchanging hands, and that was just the small time crooks. Drug dealers usually had greater sales during this month as well. Batman was working a case in Gotham City to stop the flow of illegal weapons, and Nightwing needed to keep his ears to the ground. If Gotham had illegal weapons coming through then, more than likely, so did Bludhaven.

His mind was distracted from those thoughts when Elle pulled away from him. The snow was starting to come down harder now; the flakes were getting larger and were the dry, fluffy kind. She stepped into the deserted street and began spinning around with her tongue out, trying to catch the flakes in her mouth. The sight made him smile.

The ground was covered by a thin layer already. He didn't remember hearing about a big storm coming through, but he had been distracted. He wondered how much this one would dump on them, and hoped it would stop before long. As much as he liked the white stuff, he wasn't looking forward to working in it; neither as Nightwing not as BPD officer Grayson. But at least Elle was having a good time.

* * *

Elle was having a great time. While she wasn't sure having to tough out an entire season of cold wouldn't get old rather fast, this was her first snowfall in more years than she could remember! She preferred the warmth of the Mediterranean, but she couldn't resist the novelty of playing in the white stuff.

She started humming, and then singing as she skipped around; dancing in the middle of the road.

"Sleigh bells ring; are you listening? In the lane; snow is glistening. A beautiful sight; we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland."

* * *

Dick laughed as she danced over to him and grabbed his hands. He glanced around them before allowing her to pull him into the dance. He had to admit this was a new experience for him as well, and he had been putting up with snowy winters for the last eighteen years. Of all the interesting and exciting things he had done since becoming Bruce's ward and eventually his son, never had he danced down the middle of the road, in the middle of a snowstorm, in the middle of the night.

But all good things must come to an end. The snow began falling heavier and faster and the wind was picking up. The snow's texture changed from dry and fluffy to heavy and wet. Soon visibility was beginning to suffer as well. The snowstorm was threatening to turn into a blizzard. They were still a block away from his apartment when their playful dancing had morphed into running; Dick leading the way as Elle followed him laughing. Despite the change in the storm for the worse, it apparently hadn't lost its charm for his girlfriend.

He moved to the side of the road closest to his building in an effort to keep their bearings. You could barely see a thing from the center of the street! In the twenty minutes it had taken them to traverse the three blocks, it had gone from snow flurries to nearly an inch! The wind made it feel like more, however.

"Hurry," he told her, holding her hand. He didn't want to lose her in this. If they became separated, he was a little afraid he might. "We need to get out of this before it gets worse!"

They were forced to slow down the last few feet as the pavement became slippery. Avoiding broken bones seemed to be just as important as avoiding hypothermia. He helped Elle climb the steps up to the door of his building. His hand was shaking and making it difficult to fit the key in the lock. He was suddenly wishing for his insulated suit.

Elle was shivering beside him. Being damp from the shower didn't help and the snow had kept their hair damp . . . Well, his hair and the end of her ponytail. Finally the key slid into the lock and with a quick turn of his wrist and a shove against the sticky door, the two of them practically fell into the building's foyer.

It wasn't much warmer in here. Dick's building superintendent didn't believe in wasting money heating the public areas of the building. They stamped their feet and tromped up the stairs. Dick made sure to stomp extra heavy on the stair tread because he knew that the right wall connected directly to the super's bedroom in his little apartment.

"Dick," Elle snickered in spite of herself. "Stop it! That's mean!"

He grunted. "By keeping the foyer and hallways so cold, it drives up the cost to heat the tenants' apartments. A little disturbed sleep seems like only a fitting revenge."

"I thought you were all about justice; not vengeance," she reminded him.

"Tonight, I'm all about both," he jangled his keys in his hand as he sought out the one he wanted.

It didn't take long despite having several keys on his key ring. He had made sure that each key was unique. One was to his apartment; one to the apartment on the third floor that he rented as a base for his Nightwing gear (unbeknownst to his super); one was to the roof (also unbeknownst to his super); one to his bike; one for his locker at the precinct; one to Tim's apartment; to the manor; to Elle's apartment; and to her POS car. He kept the key to the gym on a separate key ring.

"Hurry!" It was Elle's turn to coax him to greater speeds.

She slid her hands around his waist and under his coat. Dick's breath hissed as her frozen fingers found their way beneath his shirt and onto his belly. He glared at her over his shoulder.

"You beg me to hurry and yet distract me by shoving icicles under my shirt," he complained.

Elle giggled. She stood on her tiptoes and blew into his ear. Dick shivered so hard he dropped his keys.

"Now, see what you made me do?"

Elle merely laughed.

"Yeah, yuk it up, but we'll see how you like it here in a minute," he warned her as he finally pushed open the door to his apartment.

The air in it was much warmer than in the hallway, but it wouldn't feel so toasty soon. He had left the temperature down. As he turned the heat up in the apartment, Elle took off her hat and coat, and she kicked off her snow-covered tennis shoes and draped the wet socks across the nearest heat register. She started bouncing around on her toes in an effort to get more circulation in them. Dick followed suit, removing his coat and shoes as Elle turned on his television and searched out the weather channel.

"The front came in from Canada and will produce blizzard-like conditions and temperatures overnight below zero," she quoted to him. "Brr, and it felt like it, too. We're supposed to get eight to ten inches by tomorrow morning. Gotham City, only four to six."

Dick searched out the hot chocolate and the brand-new bag of tiny marshmallows. As he moved about making them a late night treat, Elle kneeled on his easy chair and held up the blinds as she watched the wind swirling snowy dust devils in the street below, fascinated. She had no desire to drive in the stuff, but while ensconced in the safety and warmth of Dick's apartment, Elle could appreciate the beauty of the storm.

* * *

The snow gave a different quality to the morning light. Elle turned her head saw that Dick was still asleep; the blankets down around his waist since they hadn't bothered to turn the heat down when they finally went to bed around two-thirty in the morning. She was tempted to wake him, but instead quietly crept from the bed and padded over to the window.

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise at the wonderland she discovered below. Bludhaven never looked so clean as it did now. A few, fluffy snowflakes still danced down out of the sky, but the bulk of the storm had finished dumping its contents on the city. She never thought her adopted city could look magical, but it did now. She knew it wouldn't last, and suddenly had the desire to put her stamp on the crisp, unmarked blanket of white before the city did its part to turn it gray.

She ran into the living room and found Dick's phone. Looking up the number, she dialed and waited impatiently for someone to answer. Elle glanced at the time; seven a.m. She wondered if it were too early yet. Knowing what Dick's family did for a living, she became conscious of things like that, but the likelihood that Batman and Robin made an appearance last night during the storm was as slender as it had been for Nightwing to do so. Dick had assured her that criminals would have been huddled under their rocks as the rest of the citizens did in their homes.

"Wayne Residence. Good morning, Master Richard."

"Good morning, Alfred," she chirped happily. "Dick's not up yet."

"Miss Arabella! What a surprise! I hope the snow hasn't left you stranded."

Elle pushed her hair back as she continued to marvel at the world of white outside of Dick's windows. "Maybe, if I had someplace I needed to be this morning. I'm sure the city will clear a path between now and the time I might need to go somewhere."

"What can I do for you this morning, then?" Alfred asked politely.

"It snowed, Alfred," she all but squealed. "I was wondering if, when the roads are cleared, that Tim and Damian might come out to play. You and Bruce, too, if neither of you have any plans."

"Oh, well, I would think that you should perhaps ask them yourself. If you wouldn't mind holding a moment." Alfred told her.

"Please, I'll wait," she murmured as she worked plans out in her mind.

A minute or two passed before Bruce came on the phone.

"Elle, what a pleasant surprise. Alfred tells me you would like the boys to come to Bludhaven for the day, is that right?"

"Morning, Bruce. And you and Alfred, too, if you can make it, but yes, that is my hope." Elle went on to explain. "I can barely remember the last snow I've experienced. I thought we all might go to the park for the afternoon. I heard they had some great hills for sledding at Astor Park. Do you think you could make it? Surely with the way the sun is shining now, the roads should be safe to travel on by then."

"I would need to check with Tim, of course, and I'm not sure where Damian is currently. Would it be all right if I call you back in a few minutes?" Bruce asked her.

"I'll be waiting breathlessly by the phone," she laughed.

"I can call you back at this number?"

"Yes," Elle caught herself blushing even though Bruce wasn't there to see it. "I'm at Dick's apartment," she admitted, just before hanging up.

She just stopped herself from blurting out a number of excuses as to why she was there so early in the morning. They were adults, and Bruce understood the bond. It was only a matter of time, after all.

A few minutes later, the phone interrupted Elle's gathering ingredients for pancakes. She scrambled for the phone, getting flour all over the counters, floor, and kitchen table in the process. She shoved a lock of hair out of her face as she hit 'talk', not realizing as she did that she got a swath of flour on her nose and across her cheek and forehead in doing so.

"Hello?"

"It's all arranged," Bruce's voice came through the phone. "We'll make a day of it. I can drive the Range Rover since it has four-wheel drive, so we won't have to worry overmuch about the roads. Alfred will provide a basket of food and thermoses of his famous hot chocolate to bring with us."

Elle's eyes sparkled and she pulled Dick's bag of marshmallows out of the cabinet to take with them. "Do you know how to get to Astor Park?"

"I have GPS in the Range Rover, but we could pick you up if you like," Bruce offered.

"Oh, no," Elle assured him. "That's not necessary. We'll meet you there. No sense crowding everyone."

"Nonsense," Bruce told her. "The Range Rover is capable of seating seven. Even with Alfred, there is only six of us."

"That sounds great," she grinned. "Around eleven? Would that be too early? I don't want you to have to drive all the way back to Gotham City after dark."

Okay, that might have been over the top, she thought, smirking. It wasn't as if Bruce didn't go out every night wearing a bat costume. Still, the Range Rover wasn't the Batmobile. She didn't know the difference in traction and handling. She would hate to be responsible for the Batman getting into an accident while he was off-duty, after all.

"That is sweet of you, Elle, but not to worry. The Rover is made for this kind of weather."

After squaring away the last few details, Elle hung up the phone.

"Who was that?"

Dick's voice coming from right behind her startled a squeak out of Elle and the phone went flying. Dick caught it handily and then burst out laughing when he finally caught sight of her face.

"What?" Elle glared at him, rubbing her chest unconsciously. "You scared the life right out of me!"

"I'm sorry," he apologized as he kissed her lips cautiously, trying to avoid the flour. "Who was on the phone?"

"That was Bruce," she told him; the excitement of her plans overcoming her scare. "He, Alfred, and the boys are coming to Bludhaven today. We're all going to Astor Park for a day of sledding! Bruce is going to pick us up in the Range Rover."

Dick blinked at her, startled. "They're coming here? For sledding? What brought that on?"

Elle blushed and turned back to her pancake batter. "I might have brought it on," she murmured. "I called him up and asked if he, Alfred, and the boys could come out to play."

"Seriously?" Dick paused in getting out some juice to gape at her. "And Bruce agreed?"

Elle smiled at him curiously. "Yes. Why? Is that something unusual?"

"I'm not sure how often he does that kind of thing around the manor anymore now that I no longer live there, but it wasn't all that common to drag him out of the house to 'play' in the snow when I was a kid." Dick explained.

"Really?" Elle pursed her lips in thought. Maybe Bruce was more like her father than she had believed. "He didn't seem put out when I asked."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Bruce wasn't all work and no play, but it wasn't something that occurred very often. And things like this almost never happened in a public venue unless it was some kind of charity event. Damian doesn't strike me much as the sledding type, and I'm not even that certain that Tim is either . . ." Dick paused to think about it as he took a drink of his juice. "So, yeah, I guess this would be kind of a momentous occasion."

Elle poured the batter, as she considered this, not noticing that she automatically poured mouse ears at the top of each pancake. It was a habit that came from making breakfast with her grandmother during the month or two of winter that she often spent in Italy with her each year.

Dick leaned against the refrigerator, grinning at her 'mousecakes'.

_You are something special all right_, he thought to himself.

* * *

**Ooh, a day of sledding with the entire Wayne clan . . . (Well, most of them. Jason is around, but Elle won't meet him for a while.) **

**REACTIONS? COMMENTS? Tell me what you think of the story so far? **


	43. Winter Sports

**Prepare yourselves for a good time . . . No Warnings! Just fun!**

* * *

"This is a nice park," Bruce commented as they followed the path that led to the area reported with the best sledding hills. "Bludhaven has a nice restaurant and a nice park . . . Who knew?"

"What?" Dick glanced at him as he pulled one of the sleds behind him. "You thought that we had only two sides of town, eh? Bad and Worse?"

"I live in the bad part of town then. We only get the occasional muggings. Dick's apartment's in the worse section. You have to dodge the bullets between the building and where you park your car," Elle deadpanned.

Bruce sent her a startled look and then glanced at Dick. "Is she joking?"

Dick snorted. "She's joking," he assured the man. "We walked home from the gym together last night just as the storm hit. Three blocks and not one, single bullet did we have to dodge."

Alfred followed along, walking beside the woman in question. The insulated container that carried lunch and thermoses of hot chocolate was perched on top of the sled Dick was dragging. "The weather channel reports that the storm hit the area sometime after midnight, Master Richard. Do you mean to tell me that you and the young miss were at the gym that late?"

"I have a key, Alfred," Dick explained, "and an agreement with the owner." He went on. "I've been taking Elle there to teach her a little self-defense, but I think I'd like to do a session over at the manor soon. I need help showing her how to defend herself against multiple attackers."

Bruce frowned. "Isn't that overkill, Dick? She shouldn't need that extensive of training, I would think."

"Then you'd be wrong," Dick snapped. He caught himself immediately and sighed. "Sorry. It's just that she was attacked again while leaving work the other night. Three men."

"What? My God, are you all right, Elle?" Bruce glanced at the petite woman that ambled cheerfully along next to Alfred.

Elle waved his concern away. "Never better," she smiled. "I was fortunate enough to be rescued by _Nightwing_!" She sighed and fluttered her eyes, dreamily.

Bruce did a double take, and then looked back at Dick warily. Did she know? Dick's face was carefully schooled and appeared impassive. There was a story here, Bruce was sure of it.

"Seriously, he is just the _dreamiest_ hero," Elle gushed; totally straight-faced. "And I'm really beginning to see the benefits of that costume he wears. I mean when you see him in it, you just know that you are really in for it. You know what I mean? Criminals of Bludhaven _**beware**_!"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Dick hunched his shoulders and winced. He bit his lip, but said nothing. Bruce, however, was concerned. He moved closer to his eldest son, bumping his shoulder slightly.

"Do you think this will be a problem," he asked quietly.

Dick shrugged, a slight smirk appearing on his face. "It's just a little bit of hero worship, Bruce. Nothing to worry about."

"I suppose she'll have to be told, eventually," Bruce mused, a slight frown marring his features.

"Yeah . . . eventually," Dick agreed.

Bruce glanced at him again. "You're not . . . _jealous_, are you?"

Dick shot him a look, but shook his head. "No, of course not!" He denied. ". . . Much," he murmured under his breath. He ignored Bruce's smirk.

* * *

Elle continued to sing Nightwing's praises to any who would listen. Tim and Damian snickered, and would inject a suitably snide remark occasionally; a situation that had Dick amazed. None of the boys' comments were of each other and neither were actively trying to kill the other. However, after about five minutes of Elle's thinly-veiled innuendo, Dick apparently hit his limit.

"Elle, if you start in on his butt again, I swear I will take you home," he threatened.

"Is it my fault that his is so yu . . ."

"Elle!" Dick snapped.

" . . .mmy?" Elle finished with a sigh.

A snort brought Dick's head swinging around. One of Bruce's hand slipped up to rub his mouth. The man appeared to be struggling to contain his mirth. One didn't even realize most of the time that the man actually had any mirth to contain, and seeing his eyes sparkling with it made Dick smile. When a chuckle escaped, Dick dropped back to walk beside his girlfriend for a moment. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Elle grinned at him with good humor. She had taken him at his word that she could make his family relax and laugh. Her teasing him was worthwhile when she had everyone in stitches. None of them realized yet that Elle knew that he was Nightwing or that she had figured out each and every one of them. They had decided to keep her knowledge to themselves for a little while longer.

They rounded the base of a hill and Elle gasped. There were families and friends all sliding down the slope in front of them; children and adults all laughing and squealing with joy. She did a little hop as her excitement increased visibly.

"Ooh, look! Oh, my gosh, I can't wait. Hurry! Let's go," she spurred them on.

Elle dropped back and grabbed Damian's free hand, and tugged him to greater speed; pulling him and his sled with her as she began to run up the hill. She looked back over her shoulder at Tim.

"Come on, Tim! Don't be a slacker! Race you to the top," she called back.

Tim glanced at the rest of them before breaking into a run, pulling his sled behind him. Elle slipped and went down on one knee in the snow. Damian paused to help her up, allowing Tim to overtake them. He passed them laughing, but Damian didn't take off after him immediately. He actually stayed long enough to make sure Elle had her balance. She was laughing and pushing at him to go on without her.

Dick stopped and stared. Bruce and Alfred stood beside him, gaping. The two boys actually seemed to be having a _friendly_ competition. Even more amazing, neither were going as fast as Dick knew them to be. They were holding back so that Elle wouldn't be left far behind. For a child as competitive as Damian, this was truly a step forward for him.

"Is he . . . smiling?" This awed question was whispered by Bruce.

"I do believe he is," Alfred answered.

Damian looked back over his shoulder and called encouragement. Where was their little assassin now? It appeared that the assassin was gone and only the little boy had been left behind.

Dick grinned. "Come on," he told them as he moved forward. "We can't let them have all the fun."

Bruce took the sled from him and gave him a nudge. "Go on. You aren't going to let them beat you, are you? Not the Great Nightwing of Bludhaven . . ."

Dick stared at him for a moment. Bruce making jokes about one of their night personas in public? Of course, he was speaking low and there was no one close enough to hear, but it was something of which he was always extremely careful. He saluted the man, grinned at Alfred, and then took off at a run; bounding up the hill as if there wasn't eight inches of snow on the ground.

When he reached Elle, Dick grabbed her elbow and pushed her up the hill with greater speed. Tim and Damian glanced at each other and grinned, actually grinned, and the race was on. Dick didn't have a sled, but he was dragging Elle. She yelled at him to run ahead and win it for her, and she didn't have to ask twice. Dick used his longer legs to eat up the space that yawned between him and his brothers. He had caught up to them by the time they were cresting the top. When Dick started to pull ahead, Tim and Damian both dropped the reins of their sleds and tackled him; the wrestling match ensued.

A couple of minutes later, a shrill whistle caught their attention and the three Wayne brothers glanced up to find Elle sitting on one of the two sleds at the top of the hill. She held the reins to both sleds in her gloved hand, and waved at the snow-covered trio.

"I win," she chirped, happily and broke into peals of laughter.

Dick grinned, and in seconds he was on her. Elle squealed and tried to run, but he grabbed her and then they were both rolling around in the snow. He kissed her pink nose.

"Sneaky," he declared.

"Strategy," she countered.

He rolled off of her and let Tim pull him to his feet. Damian helped Elle up. Bruce and Alfred joined them a few minutes later.

"So, in all that activity, did any of you scout out a good spot for us?" Bruce looked at the snow-covered group with amusement.

They moved across the top of the ridge until they reached a likely spot. Elle was staring at a particularly large group of college students fifty yards further along. They didn't have sleds, but was using giant inner tubes. Each inner tube would generally have three or four students on them when they would go down the hill. Occasionally, the students would hold four inner tubes together while another half a dozen more young people piled on top, and then whoever was left would push the entire group down over the hill.

Dick called her over, and Elle pulled her fascinated gaze from the scene back to their own group.

"Are you ready," he asked.

Elle stared at the sled, and bit her lip nervously. "Do I go down by myself?"

He smiled. "Only if you want to."

"I'd prefer to go down with someone else," she murmured shyly.

Dick stared at her for moment. This was not the same person that was shouting encouragement to everyone just minutes ago.

"Elle, have you been sledding before," he asked gently.

"Um . . . What if I say no?" She peeked up at him with pink cheeks.

"I would say get over here and sit down." He handed her onto the sled, and instructed her where to put her feet. He then sat down behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist. "You're going to love it," he promised, as he used his free hand to push them to the crest.

Bruce put his hands on Dick's back. "You ready?"

Elle gulped and clung to Dick's arm like her life depended on it. The hill hadn't looked nearly so big from the bottom.

"Oh God! Wait! Wait!" She blew out a breath, closed her eyes, and quickly nodded. "Okay, now! Hurry, before I change my mind!"

Bruce gave them a hard shove and the sled tipped over the edge. Elle opened her eyes and practically pushed Dick off the back of the sled so hard did she try to lean back into him.

"Hold on!" Dick yelled, laughing.

Elle screamed almost the entire way down, causing several people to stop and stare at them, but she was laughing hysterically by the time they reached the bottom.

* * *

Tim and Damian flanked Bruce as they watched the spectacle of Elle's first sled ride. Damian had yet to try it either and he looked skeptical at the sport.

"Why is she screaming," he demanded to know. "There is nothing dangerous about this at all! I've skied in the Alps and the Himalayas. This . . ." he sneered. "This is nothing!"

Tim looked at the younger boy from around Bruce. "It can still be fun."

Damian looked over at the idiocy of the college students Elle had been fascinated with earlier. "At least _that_ looks to be mildly amusing."

"This is supposed to be a family affair," Bruce reminded him as he pulled another sled into position.

Dick and Elle walked up the hill away from the newly-laid track.

"Do you want to go next, Damian?"

Dick smiled at his little brother. He knew that Damian had never done anything so mundane as going sledding in the snow. Damian opened his mouth, but took one look at Elle's laughing face and sparkling eyes, and closed his lips around his sarcastic complaint before it could exit. He nodded instead.

"Are you going down by yourself for the first time, Damian?" Elle finished dusting off the last of the snow from her pants. "It's more fun, I think, if you go down with someone else."

Damian looked at Tim and grunted, turning away. He wasn't actively trying to kill the other, but the hell if he would go down the hill with him on a sled.

"Come on," she said. "It was fun! I'll go down with you."

"It will get faster as we pack the snow down further," Dick promised.

"Fine." The boy grumbled.

He didn't want to be the one to ruin Elle's fun. Damian climbed onto the sled reluctantly. Elle climbed on behind him, wrapping him up in both arms and giving him a squeeze. Damian blushed, but didn't complain.

"Ready?" Dick put his hand on one of Elle's shoulders as Bruce did the other.

"Set?" Bruce called out next.

Elle squealed and shivered, squeezing the breath out of Damian in her rediscovered excitement.

"Go!" Both men cried and pushed the sled forward.

Like the first, Elle screamed and laughed the whole way down the hill. When they reached the bottom and hit the pile of snow that she and Dick had left with their run, She fell over, yanking Damian face-first down into the snow with her. She jumped up, grabbing the sled and started running back up the hill; leaving Damian to clamber out of the snow pile by himself. He brushed the snow off of his face with one hand, but he was grinning.

Dick didn't think it was his first sled ride that did it, however. He watched as the boy ran after Elle. She glanced behind her as Damian gained on her and screeched. She tried to run faster, but started laughing so hard that she fell into the slow just as he caught up with her. Damian grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of Elle's jacket, causing her to squeal. Damian took the sled and finished pulling it up the hill. He didn't remember to stop smiling until he reached the top and saw Tim staring at him. He promptly grimaced and drop the reins.

"Your turn, Drake. Try not to have a heart attack," he snarked.

"We have room enough to make another track," Dick suggested, pulling another sled to one side of the track they had created. "We can race later on."

Elle was panting as she scrambled to the top of the hill. She stared at the others with poorly-concealed awe.

"You guys must have the most amazing stamina," she remarked, pushing her hair back ineffectively from where it was escaping her knitted toboggan.

* * *

It took a while, but with concentrated effort, both tracks had been packed down and were slick. They took turns racing down the hill, and while it still didn't have the danger to it that Damian seemed to crave in his entertainment activities, everyone was still having a good time. Actually, a very good time. But then so was Elle . . . And when Elle was happy, everyone else tended to be happy, too.

It was definitely a perk.

When it was Dick and Bruce's turn to race, Tim and Elle prepared to push Dick as Damian and Alfred stood at Bruce's back. At first, Dick seemed to pull ahead, but then Bruce's weight gave him more speed and he quickly met and passed his son's sled to win. They were curious at what was going on at the top of the hill as they watched the butler and the girlfriend conferring behind Tim and Damian's backs. It wasn't until they reached the top again that they discovered that Elle had talked the most stoic and proper of all English butlers to take a turn racing her down the hill. Dick grinned.

When the two were perched on their respective racing sleds, Dick behind Elle and Bruce behind Alfred, neither were in a position to see Elle and Alfred share a wink.

"On your mark," Tim called out.

"Get set," Damian yelled out next.

"Go!" The boys cried simultaneously.

Dick and Bruce ran forward pushing the two to gain momentum, and Elle and Alfred were off. Almost immediately Elle grabbed snow and chucked it at the speeding butler; smacking the man in the shoulder. Alfred retaliated in kind, and suddenly the race turned into a Battle Royale as the two attempted to knock the other off of their sleds with chunks of snow.

The four males at the top of the hill gaped at the change in rules, but the sounds of Elle's laughing squeals and Alfred's own baritone guffaws ensured them that this new aspect of the game upped its entertainment quotient for the participants by a lot. All at once one of Alfred's snowballs smacked Elle in the face and she promptly tumbled backward off of her sled. Dick's mouth dropped open as she rolled a couple of feet only to jump up and throw one last snowball of her own at the butler's receding back. The lucky shot struck the elder man in the back of his head, knocking off his hat, but by this time Alfred had reached the end of the line. As his sled collided with the impacted snow, he flew forward and landed face first in the pile.

Dick and Bruce shared a shocked look, and then they took off, barreling down the hill; Tim and Damian right behind them. Elle got there first, but by then Alfred had already pushed himself up into a sitting position. Both competitors were laughing their heads off by the time the rest of their party caught up to them.

"Alfred, are you all right?" Bruce knelt beside the elder man.

Alfred paused in his chuckling to reassure the younger man. "Why, of course, Master Bruce. It takes more than a little snow to get the better of me!" He looked up at a snow-drenched Elle. "That was an excellent throw, Miss!"

"Thank you, Alfred," she snickered, still trying to shove her tangled hair out of her face. "And your aim was definitely spot on," she said, rubbing her nose.

"Drake and I want to race again," Damian burst out.

Dick laughed as the two raced back to the top of the hill. "Yeah," he agreed. "I have to admit, I would like a rematch myself." He met Bruce's eyes as his father helped Alfred to his feet. "Are you up to it, old man?"

"Old man?" Bruce turned around. There was a sparkle of challenge in his blue-gray eyes. "You're on! Be prepared to eat snow!"

* * *

Later, as Elle cheered the boys on their third snowball race, and Alfred began gathering their things together, Bruce and Dick stood off to the side, discussing the events of the day. Dick hadn't seen Alfred laugh like that in . . . Well, ever! Bruce had had to lean on Dick as he wiped his eyes weakly.

"_**That**_," the elder man said, "had to be one of the best things I have ever seen Alfred do."

"Did he not take you sledding when you were a boy," Dick asked.

"He would take me occasionally, but Alfred only ever pushed. He has never even been on a sled that I know of. Maybe when he was a child, but never after he became my valet and butler. I am positive I would have remembered it if he had." Bruce smiled as his gaze fell on Dick's newly-bonded girlfriend.

"Arthur said there was no magic in her, but Elle getting Alfred on a sled; grins and laughter out of Damian; keeping the peace between him and Tim . . . There has to be something more there." He said.

Dick glanced at Bruce, but he didn't appear upset. In fact, he appeared quite relaxed after three hours of sledding with the rest of them. Dick had even heard that rare belly laugh when they were remembering Alfred racing Elle down the hill. Dick thought he knew what Bruce meant. Never would a day of sledding have ended so well, had they attempted this without her; of _that_ he was sure.

"I'm afraid that the hot chocolate is all gone, Miss Arabella," Alfred was saying as the boys topped the crest.

"Aaww," Tim pouted. "No more hot chocolate? What are we going to do?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I have got to try that once before we go," Elle declared.

She was pointing in the direction of the college students that were still out. Most of the other families had gone, and a few new families had taken their place. She waved as she headed off in that direction.

Dick glanced at the others and then trotted after her. Tim grinned and rushed to follow. Damian bit his lip. It was obvious he wanted to go as well, but held back. Bruce watched dubiously. While he wasn't so sure this was a good idea, the students had been sledding for the past couple of hours without injury or incident.

"Do you want to go, too, Damian?"

The boy glanced back at his father, clearly torn. "Do you think they will let me?"

Bruce felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. Damian never displayed nervousness or doubt. "Why wouldn't they?"

Damian shrugged; looking down at his snow-covered feet. "Because I'm so young."

"Since when has that ever stopped you from doing what you want?" Bruce sighed. "Damian, it's okay to have fun. You saw for yourself that it didn't stop Elle or Dick or Tim. Go on," he shooed his son after the others.

"You don't want to join them yourself, sir" Alfred asked. He smiled as he tucked the one of the thermoses into the insulated container they had brought with them.

Bruce watched a group of college-aged kids go careening down the hillside, screaming. He smiled. "Uh, no . . . Thanks, but no."

"Perhaps Master Dick was correct earlier," the elder man commented lightly as he continued his task.

"In what," Bruce frowned at him.

"You _are_ an old man," Alfred chimed. He stood up and stretched his sore muscles. "Welcome to the club, sir."

Bruce huffed, but glared silently. Alfred ignored the glare. He had become immune many, long years ago. He quirked a knowing eyebrow and allowed his stiff, British, upper lip to relax enough to quirk up into a smirk.

"Fine," Bruce growled. "I am _**not**_ an old man," he called back over his shoulder as he stalked off to join the rest. His back to the butler, he allowed himself a smile, however.

It _did_ look like fun.

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**It's kind of fun to watch the Bat Family enjoying a 'normal' family activity for a change . . . They don't get it often enough! **


	44. The Drive Home

"Oh, please? You guys have got to stay the night," Elle begged the boys from her position in the middle seat of the Range Rover. "It's the weekend! Come on, where do you have to be that's more important that spending time with your exceptional, most excellent, big brother . . . And his girlfriend!"

"Elle," Dick squeezed her shoulder. "Bruce may have plans with them."

"What? Like what?" Elle suddenly caught his look and remembered. "Oh. Oh! Right . . . Well, then . . . Okay. Maybe some other time, then. I'm sure whatever your dad has planned is more exciting than a home-cooked, authentic, Italian meal and a game night."

Dick narrowed his eyes at her. "That's a low blow."

"Why? They don't know whether or not I'm even a good cook," she said, pouting. "You may have just saved them from a fate worse than death. In fact, that would be a very big brother kind of thing to do." She frowned at him, even as she slid over against his shoulder for a cuddle.

"I'm sure that once they have the chance to taste your cooking they'll be ticked off with me for denying them even one of your delicious meals," he assured her as he rested his chin on her head. "Besides, you shouldn't be standing on your ankle for the next several days, at least."

Elle huffed, and then winced when she forgot herself and wiggled her toes. The last run she had gotten on the inner tubes, the group had taken a slope where a few of the students had built a jump. When the group had hit it and gone airborne, the four inner tubes had split apart and all ten riders, including Elle, had flown off in all directions.

It could have ended worse. She had tucked her body mid-air; managing a flip worthy of Nightwing in order to come down on her feet. Unfortunately, the uneven ground wasn't as forgiving as water would have been, and Elle's right foot had twisted upon landing. Their day of sledding had ended with a two-hour wait at the emergency room where her ankle was X-rayed, wrapped, and Elle was presented with a pair of crutches with instructions to stay off of it for a few days.

Still, she supposed that if she hadn't had the presence of mind to flip as she fell, Elle's landing might have resulted in a different outcome; one that could have been distinctly unhappy. Who knew that competitive diving would one day save her life? She found her mind kept wandering onto the oddities of life and luck over the course of the past hour.

At the moment, her foot was propped on the console between the driver and passenger seat. The whole thing was downright humiliating! Thank God she had had a pedicure last week. The raspberry color on her toenails was still perfect. Well, except for the big toe . . . The nurse had removed the polish on that toe in order to be sure the circulation in her foot wasn't compromised. She pursed her lips thinking, maybe if she were lucky, she might talk Dick into polishing the toenail for her.

"How are you feeling now, Elle," Bruce asked from behind the wheel of the Rover.

She sighed. "That Vicodin is good stuff," she said in lieu of an answer.

It occurred to her at that point, that the pain medication was what was making it hard to focus, and was why her thoughts kept jumping around. Not that it mattered . . . She felt _good_.

"I'm sorry you were hurt. The day was great except for that," Tim offered from the back seat.

Elle waved her hand in the air. "It was a great day, wasn't it?"

"Except for the last two hours," Damian grumbled.

"I'll be fine! It was my own fault, anyway. I have the worst luck with solid objects. You know, like the ground." Elle smiled.

"And canoes," Dick murmured in her ear. "Don't forget canoes."

She giggled and rolled her head up to grin at him. "And canoes," she agreed, happily.

"How are you laughing," demanded Damian. "You just sprained your ankle!"

"It could have been worse, Damian," she told him.

"How is that," he challenged.

"It could have been you, or Tim," she said simply. The boy fell silent at her pronouncement, but Elle continued. "No worries, though. I heal fast. I'll be up in a day; two tops!"

"Well, I must say you do have a good attitude about things," Alfred remarked from the front passenger seat.

"What other attitude is there, Alfred? Whining about it doesn't make it go away. It only makes everyone listening to you just as miserable as you are." Elle sighed and curled deeper into Dick's arms.

"Sometimes," came Damian's voice from behind them, "that is the whole point."

"But who wants to be around someone who is miserable?" Elle asked him. "If you run everyone off, then who's left to take care of you? Even if you have to suffer alone, having a good attitude always seems to make things more bearable."

Damian didn't answer her, but she knew he heard her, and was thinking about what she said.

"The offer is still open if you two want to come back to Gotham with us. Alfred and the rest of us would be there to help whenever Dick had to work, and then you wouldn't be alone." Bruce offered again.

Elle smiled. Dick's family was so sweet!

"Thank you, Bruce," she said. "But I have to work, too. A sprained ankle is too far from my throat to keep me from singing."

She saw Bruce's eyes on her through the rear-view mirror. "After this last attack, should you still be working there? I know your father is wealthy, and Dick told me that you don't like taking money from him, but if this is a financial problem . . ."

Elle sat up and held up a hand. "I appreciate the offer I know you're about to make, but I can't refuse my father's offer to help and then take yours. The whole idea is that I become independent. That means I earn my keep and pay my own way! And to do that, I need a job."

Bruce was silent for a moment. "What about working for Wayne Enterprises? I know the owner and think I can pull a few strings if you would like a job there." Bruce smiled at her through the rearview mirror.

"Hm, working for my boyfriend's father's company . . . A nice, cushy job making a little better than average wage with comfortable benefits and a retirement package." Elle tapped her finger against her chin as she pretended to think about it. "Yeah, I can see how that would make me appear totally independent."

"I just want to see you in a safer environment," Bruce said, defensively.

His frustration was showing a bit, but Elle thought it was cute. The Vicodin made everything cute . . .

"It's a really good offer, Mr. Wayne, even if it smacks a little of nepotism," Elle grinned; easing the sting of rejection.

Bruce's eyes met hers. "Nepotism isn't necessarily a bad thing, Elle, if it keeps you safe and keeps Dick from worrying."

"You know, I bought some mace yesterday," she blurted, happily.

Bruce sighed; his gaze finding Dick's in the mirror. "Mace," he said. "She bought mace."

"I'll bring her over to the manor sometime this week and we can go over some more self-defense techniques with her," Dick suggested.

* * *

Dick had already been over this with her. Despite the fact that he was basically her partner now, she refused his offer to take care of her outright. He would just have to continue to escort her home every night and make certain he was never late again. But, just in case, he wanted to hedge their bet with a few more classes. He couldn't be with her every minute of every day, so he needed to be certain that she knew how to take care of herself whenever he wasn't around.

"Don't let me forget that I need to call Poppa and reschedule my trip home," Elle told him. "I have to wait until my car is out of the shop. I don't want him sending a car after me."

"You have a car?" Bruce asked politely.

Dick snorted. "Yeah, a pile of screws that no one would steal even for the scrap metal."

Elle rounded on him as much as her ankle and her seatbelt allowed in a huff. "Hey! That's my baby you're badmouthing!"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Your baby is older than you," he quipped.

"Phfft," She waved her hand expressively. "Exaggerate much?"

Dick rolled his eyes. The medication was making her moods mercurial. "You can hold your breath until pigs fly, Elle. I'm _not_ apologizing. That hunk of junk isn't worth the spit it takes to hold it together." Dick groused. "If you insist on driving a car, then we're going shopping on my next day off for one that will actually start."

"I _like_ my car," Elle sputtered, indignant. "And I can't afford a new one!"

"Then _I'll_ buy it," he growled. "You aren't driving that piece of . . ." Dick seemed to suddenly remember Alfred's presence. "That car is gone, Elle. After this last time, that is it!"

Elle glared at him.

"Don't give me that look," he told her. "We talked about this! You promised that if that car couldn't be made to run reliably, then you'd get rid of it!"

"No," she corrected. "You pronounced that if it wasn't up to your standards that I would be forced to get rid of it!"

"That's right," Dick agreed, his voice rose as he spoke until he was yelling. "And part of my standards is that the car will start whenever you turn the key!"

* * *

Elle opened her mouth to argue, but realized she hadn't an argument left. Dick was right. She _had_ agreed to his terms and the car had not only broken on her, but managed to do so at the worst possible time. If Dick hadn't shown up as Nightwing when he did, there was a good chance that she wouldn't be here right now. Elle was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid. She threw herself back against her seat with a huff, and stared out the window; pouting.

The silence in the vehicle was total.

After a few minutes of this, Elle glanced out of the corner of her eye at Alfred. He was staring studiously at the road ahead as if their very lives depended on it. Bruce's eyes flicked from the road to where Dick was sitting. Her eyes narrowed. There was a silent conversation going on between them; she knew it. She couldn't see the boys in the seat behind her, but no sounds were emanating from the back; not even breathing!

Suddenly, Elle realized that she had intimidated the Bat family to speechlessness! The ridiculousness of the situation struck her as funny, and though she tried to contain it, a giggle still escaped. Bruce's eyes zipped over to meet hers. He looked startled. She has startled the Batman! She had silenced and startled the Dark Knight! Elle snickered again.

Dick leaned over to stare at her.

Elle laughed outright as she pushed his face away. "Stop it," she commanded. "You guys are cracking me up!"

Dick glanced at Bruce and then at the boys in bewilderment. "Don't look at me! I think the Vicodin is making her giddy."

She snorted in amusement.

Turning back to Dick, she apologized; sliding a hand along his cheek. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "You're right and I'm wrong. I know you only want me to be safe, and I did agree to your terms. But I will miss my baby." She sighed unhappily; her mood abruptly plummeting.

Dick smiled and kissed her palm; attempting to coax her smile back. "I'm sorry, too, but not for wanting you to be safe. Never for that! And while I know you love that crappy car, I don't think I'll ever understand it."

"Yeah, it is a _terrible_ car," she agreed, forlornly. "I'm really going to miss it."

* * *

Bruce pulled up in front of Dick's apartment building. Dick's building super had still not shoveled the sidewalks. The man was a pretty lousy superintendent. Dick realized that Elle wouldn't be able to use her crutches in that mess. He was going to have to carry her in. He supposed with all things being fair, he should probably move to a better place if he insisted she get a better car. It was something to think about, anyway.

"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured. "How is Miss Arabella supposed to get through that on crutches?"

"I'm going to carry her, Alf," Dick announced, opening the door. "Could one of you get her crutches for me?"

There was a struggle in the back seat as Damian and Tim fought for the honor of carrying in Elle's crutches.

Elle tossed her coat into the back. "One of you can carry my coat in for me, if you would. I won't need it in the time it will take to get inside the building."

The scrambling stopped and Damian and Tim slipped out of the Range Rover as if nothing had happened. Damian carrying the crutches that were almost too big for him, and Tim carrying her coat. Dick had stepped out of the way while the boys had gotten out and now stepped close to pick Elle up.

"Are you sure about this?" She didn't sound all that sure of this herself.

He smiled reassuringly. "I've got you. I promise you, Elle, that I will never let you fall. I'll always be here to catch you," he told her softly.

Elle hesitated at his words. They seemed to mean something more than their face value. "I know you won't," she said. "I trust you."

Dick gathered her up in his arms so that she dangled a bit over his shoulder. He suppose he could have transported her in a cradle carry, but this way he could still dig out his keys and get the door open. Elle waved at Bruce and Alfred as Dick tromped through the snow rather than trek over the icy sidewalk. Once they were inside, Damian handed over Elle's crutches and Tim handed Dick her coat.

"It's kind of cold in here," Tim complained.

Dick shot Elle a look. His asshole super deserved more than a disturbed sleep.

"Thank you for coming and enjoying the day with us," Elle told them. "We will have to do it again sometime."

"Yeah, it was fun," Tim agreed, looking a little surprised that he was telling the truth.

"And you," Elle looked at Damian. "Did you have a good time? I know it wasn't sky-diving without a parachute, but it was still fun for you, wasn't it?"

"It was acceptable," Damian admitted.

Elle blinked and frowned.

"I meant, the day was agreeable," Damian corrected himself.

"Agreeable . . ." Elle repeated hesitantly. Her forehead was wrinkled with worry.

Damian huffed. "What I mean to say is that I . . . enjoyed the day. I had . . . fun. Thank you."

Elle face broke out into a huge smile, and she struggled with the crutches so that she could give Damian a one-armed hug while balancing the with other. The crutch fell over in a loud clatter. Elle laughed as she held on to Damian so that she wouldn't fall over with it. The woman was so wobbly on her one foot, it was all the shorter boy could do to keep her upright.

"This would be easier if you would stop laughing," Damian complained. Unfortunately, that just made Elle laugh all the harder.

"Don't just stand there gawking! One of you imbeciles grab her other crutch before I drop her." Damian yelled.

Tim and Dick both dived for the crutch and nearly knocked them over and themselves out as they bumped heads.

"Ack!" Elle yelped, hopping on one foot and clinging to Damian.

"Stop! Hold still," the boy commanded.

Tim grabbed up the crutch as Dick moved to steady his girlfriend and little brother. After a moment, Elle was once more balanced precariously on both crutches. Damian was rubbing the back of his neck and blushing furiously. She snickered; tried to stop and ending up choking. Dick patted her on the back carefully. She looked like she would fall over any second.

"How can a woman so graceful in the water and on a stage be such a klutz the rest of the time?" Dick muttered; teasing her.

"Pshaw!" Elle snorted delicately. "I'm only a klutz on land."

"Which is ninety-five percent of the time," he reminded her.

She nuzzled his ear, whispering. "It gives you the opportunity to cop a feel in public without anyone being the wiser."

Dick burst out laughing, as Elle, once more, thanked the boys and sent them out with thank you's for Bruce and Alfred again as well.

Elle looked at him after they waved the retreating Range Rover away. "So, over all . . . I think that went rather well!"

* * *

**Reactions?**

**Personally, I love that Elle's a little bit klutzy when she's not performing or swimming. **


	45. The Compromise

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

"Should you be standing on that ankle?"

Dick slid his arms around Elle's waist and kissed the side of her neck. She always smelled like what Dick thought heaven would smell like; like the air after a spring rain. Fresh and sweet, and was that a hint of cinnamon?

Elle smiled and set down the towel she had been folding so that she could turn around in his arms. She slid her arms around his neck and played with the soft curls that appeared whenever his hair got too long or when he would get sweaty, like right after a workout. Right now, though, he just needed a haircut. It was beginning to curl around the top of his police uniform collar.

"My ankle is perfect," she announced. "You should look at it. Have you ever had the privilege of seeing a perfect ankle before?"

"Perfect, hm? No, I've never seen a perfect ankle before," he played along with her silliness.

Her face turned serious. "Are you sure you're ready? I mean, it could be dangerous. People have been known to go blind after a mere glimpse of ankle perfection. Some have been driven mad. I would feel terrible if something like that happened to you."

"I am willing to take that risk," he told her soberly and straight-faced. "If I happen to be driven mad, would you visit me at Arkham?"

"Every damned day," she promised, solemnly. "So . . . Um, do they allow conjugal visits in Arkham," she asked, breaking into a grin and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

That did it! Dick burst out laughing! "Now that is a disturbing thought." He lay his forehead on hers and rubbed her nose with his own. "You make me laugh," he stated. "Every damned day, you take whatever mood you find me in and you make it better."

"Then I'm doing my job correctly," she kissed the tip of his nose, and then moved down to his beautiful mouth.

"It isn't your job to make me happy," he said.

Elle frowned at him. "While it is your decision ultimately whether or not to be happy, it is _my job_ to help you achieve it," she insisted. "Where do you get such ridiculous ideas about how relationships should be?"

"Me? You are the one who is old-fashioned. Modern American women are liberated now," he smirked.

"I'm liberated," she countered, turning back to the laundry.

"And that is why you are folding my socks?" Dick nuzzled the back of her neck before heading into his small kitchen to find something for breakfast. "What smells so good?"

Elle followed him into the kitchen and took out four huge cinnamon rolls from the oven where they had been kept warm for him. "I know you like these," she told him, sliding a couple onto a plate for him.

"Oh my God, Elle," he drooled. "If I weren't already in love with you, I would have fallen head over heels for you this second."

He quickly sat down and took a bite. His eyes closed in bliss. "This is . . . amazing!" He opened his eyes and stared down at the roll. "Did you make these?"

Elle laughed. "Of course, I did. Who else is here?"

"No, I mean that these don't taste like store bought." He took another bite of heaven. "These taste like Alfred's . . . No, better than Alfred's." He pointed at her. "But don't tell him that or I'll deny it. Did you make these from scratch?"

Elle shrugged. "You had all the ingredients," she said casually. "Well, except for the yeast. I had to go next door to borrow some."

Dick paused at that. "Which neighbor?"

"The one across the hall," Elle told him as she put a cinnamon bun on her plate.

"Old Mrs. Haskell?" Dick blinked at her owlishly. "She didn't threaten to call the police on you?"

"Only once," Elle grinned. "I told her I was dating a cop and if she needed you, I could save her a phone call. Anyway, she's quite nice once you get to know her."

"Old Mrs. Haskell?!" Dick gaped.

Elle pointed at his plate. "Eat that while its warm." She told him. "I promised to bring her some cinnamon rolls as payment for the yeast."

"You are a miracle worker," he declared, digging into his breakfast. "What are you going to do with yourself all day while I'm at work?"

Elle smirked. "Your laundry for one thing. I don't think you've done any since the last time I was over here." Dick ate a little faster, not looking up. "You haven't, have you?"

"I would have . . . eventually," he crossed his heart with a finger.

"Hm," Elle looked at him skeptically. "Did you go out last night?"

"Why do you ask?" Dick returned her gaze solemnly.

"Because I woke up alone around one o'clock in the morning."

"Tis the season," he quipped. "Nightwing needed to patrol. Criminal activity is on the rise around this time of the year."

Elle leaned back in her chair and licked the icing off of her fingers. Dick stopped eating to stare at her. "I would appreciate it, if you plan to leave me in the middle of the night, that you tell me about it before you go and wake me when you return."

Dick frowned. "For what purpose? You were sleeping so well, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Maybe before you left, but after you came home the only reason I was sleeping so 'well' is because I had been up for three hours waiting on you." She told him. "I eventually fell back to sleep, but it wasn't all that peaceful. I was worried."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Dick muttered.

"Look, I know about it now and that makes me a part of it in a small way," she said. "All I want is a little consideration. Tell me if you are going out, and wake me when you return so that I know you are okay."

"And you won't stay up worrying if I do that?" He eyed her skeptically.

Elle shrugged and picked up their dirty plates. "Maybe. But it won't make me worry any less if you sneak out. I'd also like to know what your route is for the night."

Dick got up and followed her over to the sink. "For what purpose," he asked again, his frown became a little more fierce.

She frowned back at him, unintimidated. "So, if you don't come home, I know where to look for you."

"Oh no! I won't have you cruising Bludhaven in the middle of the night just because I got caught up in something and didn't get home when expected." Dick told her.

"I won't jump in the car if you are five minutes late. But if you tell me you should be home at four and five o' clock comes around, I want the option of knowing where you might be. If nothing else, I could call Bruce or Tim if you go missing," Elle argued as she washed the dishes. "If something happened to you at work, you have backup. Someone would call an ambulance and I would like to think someone would then call me. But who's going to do that for you as Nightwing?"

"Elle, I've been doing this for years," he took her chin in his hand so that she would look at him. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"Exactly! You've been doing this for years! The odds that something could happen to you are growing greater. This gives me a certain peace of mind," she said, imploringly. "I trust you know what you are doing, but mistakes can be made and accidents happen. Someone might get in a lucky shot . . . I don't suppose you'd be willing to check in with me a couple of times a night?"

Dick blew out his breath in frustration. He worried this might happen now that she knew his secret. "Elle, no. I need to keep you separate from my night work."

"Too late! If you wanted to do that, then you should have taken off after you tied those muggers to the fence instead of popping the hood of my car. I know now, and if you think that doesn't change things up a bit, then you living in a fantasy."

Elle followed Dick as he moved to get his belt and his weapon. "Don't you ignore me, Dick Grayson! I'm not telling you not to go out there! I'm not trying to run your life, but you can't come into mine and make your proclamations and then tell me to mind my own business while you run your life without any consideration to me!"

"Without any consideration . . . Elle, all I do is consider you!" He gaped at her.

"Fine. Then you can cease doing so as of right now. If you cannot allow me into each part of your life in some small way, then I will not allow you into mine." She crossed her arms.

Dick scoffed. "You cannot help allowing me into your life. We're bonded, remember?"

Elle wasn't impressed. "The way I understand it, I can have dinner with you once or twice a week and have no ill effects."

Dick blinked. "But . . . We're a couple now. We love each other."

Elle turned away. "I thought we were, but you just told me otherwise."

He came up behind her and put his arms around her. "I did not. I just don't want you worrying needlessly or staying up for me. And I certainly don't want you to put yourself into a dangerous situation just because I'm late."

Elle huffed. "I told you that I wouldn't. But it is far too late in the game to expect me not to worry about you. We have to make compromises on occasion for the other person. That is how it works!"

She turned in his arms, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes. The thought flashed in his head that she was turning on the waterworks in a bid to gain her own way, and then guilt flooded him. Elle had never been conniving before. She had never attempted to manipulate him. His gut told his brain he was an idiot, and that her tears meant that she was truly upset.

"I love you," she declared hotly.

And he knew immediately that it was so.

"I want to support you in everything, but I need you to understand what it is like for me. I'm no superhero. I'm not planning on following you out on the streets. I'll be sitting at home like a good, little girlfriend worrying about you, whether or not we stay a couple or become nothing more than bonded friends. I will not stop loving you and because of that, I will always worry about you," she told him. "I simply want you take measures that will ease that worry a little bit."

He watched a single tear escape and trace a path down her cheek.

"Just a little bit," he asked.

"Just a tiny, little bit," she said, and laid her head against his chest. His badge was cool against her cheek.

"And giving you my route every night and . . . what? Calling in every hour will do that for you?" His hand cupped her head and he let it slide through her silky hair as she snuggled into him.

She hugged his waist. "Not necessarily every hour. But a couple of times would be all right. You know, like halfway through, and then just before you head home."

"Hm," he thought about it. "I could do that, I suppose; as long as I'm not caught up in something. I wouldn't be able to guarantee it would be on the dot every night."

"I'm flexible," she assured him.

"I will learn to be," he promised.

"And you will call me if you get into trouble?"

He took her shoulders and pushed her back to arms' length. "No. I told you, I won't have you coming after me."

"I would call for backup only."

"Elle, there is already a network in place that I can call if I get into trouble," he told her.

She frowned. "A network?"

"There is someone who monitors our activity and can initiate backup or a rescue if it's necessary. She's called Oracle." Dick told her.

"Oracle? Like some kind of all-seeing seer?" Elle blinked. "You use a fortune-teller?"

Dick grinned. "No. Not exactly. She's more like a computer genius with killer hacking skills. She provides Batman, Red Robin . . ."

"That's Tim, right?"

"Right," he nodded. "Robin, and Nightwing with Intel; can monitor traffic cams and ATMs; provide us with communications, and contact the authorities for us when called for."

"All that?"

"And more really. But we don't rely on her completely. I do my own research, and my com link is capable of reaching Bruce without a relay most of the time."

"Huh," Elle moved away as she considered this. "Do you know her? Personally, I mean."

Dick turned away and busied himself with his wallet and keys, and grabbed his jacket. "I know her," he said simply.

"Do you trust her?"

"In this, I do." Dick crossed the room. "Do you feel any better about things? Does knowing that I'm not out there without resources help you at all?"

"Yes, it helps," Elle smiled.

"Good, because I've got to go or I'll be late," Dick kissed her nose. "Thank you for breakfast. It was fabulous!"

"You have a great day, and stay safe," she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth.

He looked dazed when they finally came up for air.

"I love you," she told him.

He gave her another quick peck on the lips before running to the door. "I love you, too," he said as he picked up his keys. "I've got ten minutes to get to work."

"Don't speed," she called after him. "You'd never live it down if you got a speeding ticket."

He laughed as he barreled down the stairs. "Lock the door," he reminded her before he ran out of sight.

* * *

Elle puttered around the apartment. Her ankle was still wrapped, but the swelling was practically gone and her limp was almost non-existent. She hadn't lied when she told Damian that she would be up on it in just a day or two. She had always healed quickly. It was both a blessing and a curse, however. It had been a curse whenever she had tried to convince someone that her brother was hurting her during her childhood.

Aiden was only her half-brother. Their father had married his mother, a pretty French woman, who was reportedly high-strung, and emotionally and mentally unstable. Aiden had been born early in their marriage and had been ten when their father had finally divorced her.

He had given her a settlement and cut all ties to her that did not directly concern Aiden. According to Edward, she had gone through the money in just a few years and had been nearly destitute at the end. Marcelle had been obsessed with Cedric Hamilton, however. She had only cared for Aiden because her son was her only link to her ex-husband. She had constantly promised him that she and his father would get back together, that it was only a matter of time.

So, when Cedric had met, fallen in love with, and married Esmeralda Lorena Costanzo, an Italian singer of some renown, Marcelle had blamed Esmeralda for her failed marriage, and poisoned her son's mind against the woman. Always a woman of dramatic statement, Marcelle committed suicide on Cedric and Esmeralda's wedding day. And a year later, Arabella Loren Hamilton had been born. Aiden had hated her on sight. If that hadn't been bad enough, Cedric Hamilton did not make it a secret that Esmeralda was his one, true love, and little Bella was the child of his heart.

Aiden had learned fast about his half-sister's healing talents, and had taken advantage of it. She had constantly born bruises growing up while Aiden was around, and one particularly horrible summer before her mother had died, Aiden had been responsible for her for an entire five days. That had been the year she had learned how to sew up a cut by herself . . . A skill she would use at least twice more before she was able to avoid her brother by attending a private school in Europe for a year. When she returned, she had discovered that he had moved to New York City to run their father's business interests there.

But no one ever suspected Aiden of abuse because her bruises would heal up in a few hours. The bad ones would take a little more than a day to fade. Her worst cuts never took longer than a week and were practically gone by the time anyone saw them. She had been accused of being spoiled and vindictive because of her accusations against her brother; that her bruises were merely make-up that she applied to heap false recriminations on his head. So, little Bella learned to avoid her half-brother when she could, and kept quiet on those times when she couldn't. She had also learned to not ask for things so as not to inspire those around her into believing she was the spoiled brat Aiden had often accused her of being.

Had her brother been in Italy at the time of her mother's death, Elle would have suspected him of causing it. Even so, there was always a bit of doubt about it in her mind, but she had seen the driver of the truck that had pushed their car through the guardrails and off of the cliff that day. It hadn't been Aiden. The man had been strange, however, and because of that, his visage had always remained in her memory. Even now, years later, Elle was certain that if she saw him again, she would know him.

Once she had become an adult, Elle realized that Aiden could have hired the man. She had never confronted him about it, though. Her brother was nearly as powerful a man as their father now. She needed to be certain and in a position of power herself before she did something like that, or she might end up involved in another 'accident'; one that she wouldn't be able to walk away from next time.

She sighed as she gathered up a newly-folded pile of Dick's clothing to put away. Dick wasn't the only one with secrets. Elle's secrets weren't nearly as cool as his, though. Maybe one of these days, she would tell him about that part of her life, but not now. She didn't need his pity and she wouldn't take his vengeance on her behalf. Elle had learned to fight her own battles. She lost those battles a lot more often that she cared to admit, but during those times, she had learned to be strong. She had learned to endure.

Poor, little, rich girl, indeed . . .

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Okay, this wasn't the part I've been waiting so long to write yet. That part will go up tomorrow for sure, but this little bit of Elle's history will become important in the future . . . **


	46. NOT BOB

**The title to this chapter references something from the earlier chapter called "Misery Loves Company".**

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

Elle was simply putting Dick's socks away. That was all she was doing when her hand bumped the small box in the back of the drawer. She wasn't snooping when she discovered it. She hadn't been looking for anything really, so it wasn't her fault that Dick wasn't more creative when hiding stuff. Didn't he know that everyone in the world hides stuff in the sock or underwear drawer? It was one of the first places that burglars look! _She_ knew this because she had watched CSI and reruns of Barnaby Jones; why didn't _he_?

Still he lived alone, mostly, so who was going to go through his sock drawer? Only those he trusted to mind their own business. And that was what Elle was going to do . . . Mind her own business! The box was stuffed in the back of his sock drawer, after all, and not sitting out on the coffee table as a conversation piece. If he wanted her to see it, he would have left it out.

Elle ran a frustrated hand through her hair. But if he _didn't_ want her to see it, he should have hidden it somewhere else when he had noticed her folding his clothes and matching his socks for him. She had practically announced to him right then and there that she was going to be opening his sock drawer at some point during the course of the day. He was _Nightwing_, for God's sake! He was supposed to be observant!

And so it was that Elle found herself sitting at Dick's kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, and staring at the small box from his sock drawer at nine o'clock in the morning.

It was a really nice box, she thought. Like a box you would give jewelry in. But what would Dick be doing with a small jewelry box? What kind of jewelry would Dick even have?

_Cuff links_!

The answer was so obvious that Elle grinned. This was either a gift from Bruce to Dick or maybe it was a gift from Dick to Bruce! Christmas was just a little more than a couple of weeks away!

It was a gift to Bruce, then, she determined. Why would Dick hide a past present from Bruce, after all? He wouldn't! But then again, why would he leave expensive cuff links out on top of his dresser? She hadn't actually seen any other types of jewelry in his apartment, and it wasn't like he wore suits a lot. Only when he came to see Elle sing, in fact, but she didn't actually remember whether or not he was wearing cuff links then. And cuff links were worn more for fancy occasions like weddings and parties; not for going to a club to listen to singing.

Bruce went to more parties than Dick, what with his social calendar and all. These _had_ to be cuff links for _Bruce_!

Elle smiled at her detective genius.

Dick wouldn't begrudge her a little peek at Bruce's Christmas present. She set her coffee to the side and reached for the box that had filled her every thought since she first found it two hours ago. She lifted the lid and pulled out the black velvet case inside. It was the same size as ones used to give cuff links . . . And it was the same size for the ones to give a pair of earrings!

But why would Dick give Bruce earrings? Elle laughed at the thought. Of course they were cuff links!

She ran her thumb appreciatively over the velvet material. It was also the size one would use to give an engagement ring . . .

Elle sucked in her breath. Where did _that_ thought come from?

Who would Dick give earrings to, let alone an engagement ring?

He had only known her a few short months. They had only been dating since October! Despite the bonding, that wasn't long enough to warrant such an expensive gift, let alone a ring! Of course, they _were_ in love with one another, and they _were_ pretty much guaranteed a wedding at some point . . .

It was cuff links for Bruce!

Elle smiled again as the issue was resolved once more to her satisfaction in her head. She opened the case and gasped.

It wasn't cuff links!

Or earrings . . .

A large solitary diamond ring sat proudly on a bed of velvet.

She snapped the case shut for a moment as she stared at nothing in particular, stunned. Her mind was a blank. She hesitated for just a moment and opened the case again. The diamond winked at her in the morning sunlight as if teasing her.

After a few minutes one thought entered her head. This belonged to someone else. She couldn't have explained how she knew it, only that she did. This ring wasn't for her. Dick had bought this ring for someone else.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the ring. What the hell was she doing? She shouldn't be doing this! This didn't belong to her. If Dick wanted her to know about this ring, he would have told her. She knew he had women in his past. She knew that! She didn't care about them. If this woman had made him happy, then they would have still been together!

Wouldn't they?

She remembered the woman Dick had brought with him to the club for dinner and to watch her sing. She remembered because the woman had made such a fuss upon leaving; and Dick, she remembered noticing him for the first time then. He hadn't even noticed that his date had left. He hadn't heard a word the woman had said to him quite loudly. Elle had actually heard a bit of it, and she had been on stage singing at the time. But Dick had been listening only to her; not the woman he had brought with him.

Did this ring belong to her, then?

Had he planned to give her this ring that night? Had Elle caused Dick to withhold the ring? Had she broken the couple up? Elle breathing grew rapid as the disturbing questions raced through her mind. Then, she noticed writing on the inside of the band. Elle held it up to the light and squinted to read it.

_Dick &amp; Babs 4ever_ . . .

Babs . . . Where had she heard that before? She knew for a fact that Dick had never mentioned another woman to her by name. Babs . . .

Her eyes widened as she remembered. After their first date, when Dick had been so sick and she had come over; Dick had talked in his sleep! What had he said?

"Babs! I'm sorry." Elle whispered.

Babs! Not Bob as she had thought naively. _Babs_!

A sob caught in her throat as a flurry of emotion crashed over her at once. Horror, Sadness, Anger!

Elle jumped to her feet and flung the ring away from her. "Not Bob," she yelled. "It's not Bob!" Not Bob, but _Babs_!

The ring hit the wood floor with a *_PING_* as it skittered away. Elle watched in horror as she suddenly realized what she had done! She knocked the chair over as she raced to catch the piece of jewelry. It bounced as it hit the wall near the window and clinked when it hit the metal grating of the heating vent.

Elle threw herself forward, but it was too late. The ring made a second tiny *_CLANG_* before disappearing down the vent with an echoing rattle.

"Oh no!" She cried. "Oh no, no, no, no, no!"

She scrambled the last couple of feet and peered down inside of the vent. She caught a glimpse of something shiny.

"_Damn_ it," she groused, slapping the floor with her hand in aggravation. The ring shifted and slid a bit further, almost out of sight!

She gasped. _Oh No_! "Shit! Shit! Shit! _Fuck_!"

Elle slapped a hand over her mouth. She almost never swore and she never said _that_ word, but if ever there was a moment when that word was appropriate, now was the time. If her grandmother were here right now . . . Oh, God! If her grandmother were here, Elle would never have opened the case in the first place.

Dick was going to kill her! He would be so disappointed . . . And then he would kill her! She had to get the ring back! She had to get it back, put it back in its case, back in the box, and most importantly back in the sock drawer; preferably before he came home from work!

She didn't know if he looked at the ring every day in regret or if he had tossed it there and forgotten it, but surely he would notice that it wasn't there. He changed as soon as he came home from work. Showering and then throwing on some clean jeans and a t-shirt. He might go barefoot, but then again it was kind of cold along the floor; the old building allowing in drafts that slithered along the floor in an effort to freeze unsuspecting feet. He might want to wear socks tonight!

Elle scrambled to her feet and rushed to the kitchen. Everyone had a junk drawer in the kitchen with loose coins, tape, spare shoestrings and batteries, and sometimes . . . Sometimes screwdrivers!

Dick was unlike every other man she knew, but in this, thank God, he was like everyone else in Middle America. She rummaged through the necessary junk that tended to collect in a spare kitchen drawer when you didn't know where else to put it.

Flashlight! _Woo-hoo_! She was going to need that!

Bingo! Screwdriver! _Yes_!

Grabbing the two items, Elle raced back to the vent; grunting as she smacked her elbow when throwing herself down too enthusiastically. She set the flashlight aside and moved to unscrew the plate. She stared in dismay at her Phillipshead screwdriver and the screws that required a flathead screwdriver to open.

_Seriously_?

She ran back to the drawer, but no amount of rummaging produced a flathead screwdriver.

What. The. Hell?

Who didn't have a flathead screwdriver? Then Elle bit her lip. She wasn't exactly sure that _she_ even had a screwdriver; in either of the two forms. She only knew she had a hammer because she had hung pictures when she moved into her apartment. She ran back to the vent with a butter knife and tried to use it, but only managed to bend the tip of the knife and was no closer to removing the screws.

She thunked her head on the floor in frustration, and groaned when she heard the ring slide a bit further with a metallic sound. She was so dead . . .

Taking a deep breath, Elle thought about what she could do next. She could tear the place apart searching for a flathead screwdriver or she could try to borrow one from someone else who might just be better organized than her boyfriend. Pushing herself back to her feet, Elle winced at the stress on her healing ankle and rubbed gingerly at her elbow as she headed to the front door.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Mrs. Haskell opened the door to her apartment. The woman blinked up at Elle through her thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Elle smiled. She wondered if the woman realized that those glasses were back in fashion and considered very retro.

"Good morning again, Mrs. Haskell," Elle greeted her. "Did you enjoy the cinnamon rolls?"

It was everything Elle could do not to grab the poor woman and shake her while screaming _'Flathead screwdriver_!_ I must have a flathead screwdriver_!'

"They weren't bad, Miss Hamilton," she said, peering curiously past Elle's shoulder into Dick's apartment beyond. Elle had left the door open. "Not like my mother used to make, but quite tasty nonetheless."

"Please, call me Elle," Elle told her graciously.

"Elle?" The elderly woman tilted her head quizzingly. "What kind of name is Elle?"

"It's a nickname, Mrs. Haskell," Elle explained semi-patiently. "A shortened form of Arabella."

"Arabella? I've never heard of that name before," Mrs. Haskell announced. "Is it foreign?"

"Ah, uh, I suppose that maybe it is," Elle said. She really needed that flathead screwdriver, but it wouldn't do to annoy the person who might be able to loan it to her. "I don't know for sure if Arabella is strictly an Italian name or not, but my mother was from Italy."

Mrs. Haskell leaned back as if Elle had just announced she was from Pluto. "Italian, did you say? But your surname is . . ."

"Hamilton, yes," Elle continued to smile. The muscles in her face were getting sore from the strain. "My father's side is from Scotland."

Narrowed, bespectacled eyes met hers.

"My father is American, however," Elle assured her. "It was my great-great grandfather that came over from Scotland."

"Italian and Scottish," Mrs. Haskell repeated.

"American," Elle corrected. "I was born in Chicago."

Mrs. Haskell stared.

"I'm a melting pot, Mrs. Haskell," Elle explained. "Surely the very definition of an American." Elle wondered if she were going to need to prove her antecedents in order to borrow a cup of sugar in the future, let alone the all-important flathead screwdriver.

Mrs. Haskell looked back over her shoulder at Dick's apartment.

"Your . . . Young man," the old woman began. "Is he Italian? I noted that he seems quite tan all year round when most people are pale throughout the winter months."

It was Elle's turn to blink. "Ah, I don't know for sure. I suppose there might be some Italian in there somewhere . . . maybe . . . If you look hard enough. Does it matter?"

"I had heard somewhere that he was . . . You know, one of _those_ people."

"'_Those_' people?" Elle didn't know where the woman was going with this. "A police officer?"

"No, no, dear," Mrs. Haskell waved a hand in the air. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "One of _those_ people . . . _Gypsies_! And his parents were _circus_ folk. His mother was some kind of fortune-teller."

Elle couldn't help it when the snicker escaped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Haskell. I don't know where you get your information, but it couldn't be more faulty. Dick's heritage on his father's side is Romany." Gypsy was just the more common term for it, but she bet old Mrs. Haskell didn't know that. "And his mother, I can assure you, was not a fortune-teller."

The woman looked relieved. "Oh, that is a relief."

Elle smiled serenely, but enjoyed clarifying Mrs. Haskell's misconception. "Dick's parents were trapeze artists."

"Trapeze artists? But aren't they found in . . ."

"Yes," Elle told her. "In a circus."

"Oh, I heard tell that . . ."

Elle interrupted her. "You shouldn't believe everything you're told, ma'am. Not everyone is a stereotype. Your neighbor is one of the kindest, most honest men I have ever met. And he is an officer of the law. If ever you were in trouble, he would be the person you would turn to for help. You should consider yourself quite lucky to have him for a neighbor. You would be even luckier if you could consider him a friend."

"Is that so," the old woman asked.

"As God is my witness," Elle crossed her heart.

"Hm," was all the woman said, but she was considering Elle's words. "Well, then, what is it you wanted, Miss Hamilton? I am certain that you didn't knock on my door to tell me all about your young man."

"Then, you'd be mistaken," Elle said. "Thank you. Sorry to have troubled you. Have a wonderful day."

Elle walked towards the stairs, pausing only to close Dick's door behind her. Better to check with the superintendent of the building for the screwdriver. She felt Mrs. Haskell's gaze upon her as she went. It wasn't until Elle disappeared around the corner that she heard the old woman's door close.

Prejudice . . . Same thing as ignorance. Perhaps with a little education, Mrs. Haskell would be a happier, more trusting person. Of course, this was Bludhaven . . . It might be healthier for her to remain suspicious of everyone.

* * *

Elle returned to the apartment armed with a flathead screwdriver and her determination. She carefully set each screw into an empty coffee mug and put it to the side so she wouldn't knock it over. Once the vent covering was removed, Elle peered once more into the hole. The ring was just barely visible.

She thought that maybe, just maybe, she could reach it. Elle slid her hand down into the vent, turning her head away from the small puff of dust that flew up. She coughed, but continued on with her quest to save the ring and get it back into the sock drawer before Dick got home.

She didn't want him to know she had snooped in his stuff. She felt so guilty and embarrassed, but on top of it all, she was afraid. They had just determined that their feelings for one another were real, and now she found herself wondering anew if what Dick felt for her were his own feelings or if he was being compelled in some way. What if her singing had somehow made him break off his engagement or stopped his proposal?

Elle felt the edge of the ring with her fingertips, but when she tried to grab it, it slipped from her fingers and slid a little further. She growled in irritation, and shoved her arm further into the vent. There it was . . . Just at the end of her reach. She couldn't pick it up this way; it was too far, but maybe she could slide it closer until she could.

After several minutes of trying, Elle huffed in annoyance. Maybe the vacuum cleaner would have been better . . . She moved to pull her arm out of the vent duct and discovered suddenly that she was stuck. Her sleeve was caught on a sharp edge or something. She tugged again harder, but there was no give at all.

Maybe she could rip her sleeve and escape?

She pushed against the floor with her free hand as she pulled. There was a rip sound all right, but she felt the sharp edge tear her skin at the same time. Elle yelped and froze. She relaxed her arm and tried to wriggle it away from the sharp metal, but all she managed to do was wedge her arm in there tighter.

_Damn it_!

She twisted around so that she could see the clock. Her eyes widened. It was almost eleven o'clock already? How? Where had the time gone? Dick would be home in four hours and here she was, stuck in the heating duct! His ring somewhere beyond her grasp at the moment. What to do? What to do? What to . . .

Her eyes widened. Her phone! She could call for help!

It was nestled in the back pocket of her jeans!

Unfortunately, it was in the pocket on the side her arm was stuck! She would have to reach around with her left hand into her right back pocket to get it out. It required a little bit of contorting, but she could do it.

_Ow_! Okay, she could do it without pulling on her arm too much, maybe.

Her phone fell out of her pocket and onto the floor. Elle got up onto her knees and tried to reach under her body for it. It hurt her shoulder, but there was no other way. When the phone was finally in her left hand, she was exhausted.

Who could she call? 911 was out . . . Dick or one of his buddies would hear it go out over the scanner and recognize his address. She didn't know the fire department's number off hand. Who did when you had 911? She didn't know the Superintendent's phone number and she didn't want to yell for help. Someone was bound to ask Dick about it later. Edward and Hugh would help her, but they were in Chicago and more than an hour and a half driving time away.

There was someone else closer. Someone who might know how to get her out of this. She looked up the number in her contacts and hit send.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**She was bound to find out sooner or later . . . **


	47. The Rescue

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

The sound of the lock being opened on the door sent a wave of panic through Elle. What if Dick was coming home for lunch? He didn't normally, but then Elle usually wasn't in his apartment at this time either. Normally, she would be at her apartment or at Chez' Donovan's for rehearsals.

_Normally_, she wasn't lying on his floor with her arm trapped in the heating vent after losing his fiancée's engagement ring in the ductwork.

Elle checked the time on her cell phone. Eleven-fifty. If it were her rescuer, then he made excellent time. But the roads were still a bit icy, and if it were him, then that meant he had risked speeding to get here fast. She was still fluctuating between outright panic and hope when the door opened.

"Elle?"

_Oh, thank God_!

"Over here," she called out, struggling to sound normal despite her situation.

Footsteps came closer . . . Wait! It sounded like he brought a friend. Terrific! Someone else to swear to secrecy.

"What the hell? What have you done to yourself, Hamilton?"

"Damian?" Elle tried to look behind her.

"Oh my God, Elle," Tim gasped. "Are you all right?"

She laughed. "If I were all right I wouldn't have had to call _you_! Now, if you two are done gawking at me, do you think you might help me get out of here?"

"How long have you been stuck?" Tim asked finally appearing by her side.

"I'd rather keep that to myself," she said. "This situation is humiliating enough without telling you how long I've been lying here contemplating the dust bunnies under your brother's bookshelf."

Damian squatted down on her other side. "How do you get yourself into these things, Hamilton?"

"What? Do you think things like this happen to me on a daily basis," Elle asked, defensively. "This is a unique situation, I'll have you know."

At the brothers' silence, she huffed.

"I promise you that this is the first time in my life I have ever got a body part stuck in a heating duct," Elle grumbled. "I hate to rush you, guys, but I kind of like to be out of here before your brother comes home . . . And maybe . . . I might need to go to the bathroom. Soon."

Tim's mouth tightened, and Elle knew he was trying not to laugh at her predicament.

"I guess I shouldn't have had that cup of coffee this morning."

A short bark of laughter erupted and just as quickly stopped. Tim rubbed his mouth. "I'm sorry, Elle."

"Don't be," she sighed. "I would have laughed in your position. I'd be laughing in my position except I really wasn't joking when I said I had to go. Can we pick up the pace here?"

"How did you get like this," Damian repeated as Tim began working her sweater around to see where she was hooked.

"I lost something down the vent," she explained reasonably.

"Have you tried to take the sweater off, Elle?" Tim asked.

She blinked. _Oh God, no, she didn't_. If it ended up really being that easy she would save Dick the trouble of killing her by doing the job herself.

"Um, no," she admitted weakly. "If you can turn around?"

Tim and Damian turned their backs as Elle struggled to pull her arm out of the sleeve.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this," she grumbled under her breath. "I am so stupid . . . _Ow_! _Damn it_! You guys didn't hear me say that!"

"Are you free yet," Tim asked politely.

"Ugh . . . No!" Elle grunted. "_Ouch_!"

Tim glanced over at Damian. The younger boy looked back with an odd expression on his face. If Tim didn't know better, he'd say Damian was struggling not to laugh either.

"This . . . isn't . . ._ fair_," Elle groused. "Hold on. Let me just try this one . . . _OW_!"

The boys turned around at that last yelp. Elle collapsed in frustration and exhaustion. Her sweater was still mostly on, thankfully, with only her midriff showing. She sniffled, and Tim and Damian looked alarmed at the thought that Elle might cry.

"Maybe we should call the fire department," Tim suggested gently.

"_NO_," Elle yelled, then more softly. "No, no, we can't call 911. Dick will hear about it! He can't know!"

Tim sighed. "Why can't Dick know? What's going on, Elle? How did you do this?"

"I-I found something. I know I shouldn't have looked at it, but I couldn't help it. I was curious! I didn't think it would hurt to just have a little peek," she sniffled, embarrassed and ashamed.

Damian and Tim's heads shot up! Could she have discovered Dick's Nightwing uniform or weapons? Surely, he wouldn't have left Elle here unsupervised if there were any danger of her finding them!

"I was just so surprised . . . And shocked! I wasn't expecting that at all. It just kind of blindsided me," she whimpered. "I just reacted and I threw it in a bit of temper."

Tim gulped. What were they supposed to tell her? Wait! Threw it? What did she throw that could fall down the heating vent?

"Dick's going to _kill_ me. He's not going to trust me anymore. He'll _hate_ me," she moaned.

"Tt. Grayson won't hate you," Damian told her.

She swiveled to look at Damian. Her face was damp with tears. "Please._ Please_ don't tell him! I'll put it back. I swear, I won't say a word, but neither can you two!"

"Damian's right, Elle. Dick won't hate you no matter what you found," Tim assured her.

"You've got to promise me neither of you will tell him about this," Elle demanded, turning to look at Tim next.

When neither of them agreed right away, Elle yelled at them. "**_Promise_!**"

"Promise," Damian spoke softly.

Tim sighed. "Promise."

"Okay," she said, calm once more. "Now get me out of here because I _really_ need to pee."

Tim moved to her other side and tugged the edges of her sweater out of place so that he could see what was holding her tight. He picked up the flashlight next to her and peered down into the duct.

"What the . . . There is a piece of metal that is hanging you up. It's pretty thick, so that is why it won't bend and allow you to slip free. I'm going to have to cut your sleeve, though. Is that okay?" Tim explained.

"Yes, yes, I don't care about the sweater," Elle told him. "Just do it!"

Tim pulled a knife out of his hiking boot and the blade slid out silently when he thumbed a switch.

_Holy Smokes_! Tim carried around _a switchblade_? She peeked at Damian and remembered all that Dick had told her about his past. She wondered what kind of weapon _he_ had on him. Damian stood up and as Tim bent to his work.

"You'd better hurry, Drake," Damian suddenly spoke.

"I'd kind of like to do this without amputating her arm in the process, Damian," Tim snarked. "I don't know why I bothered to bring you with me if you aren't going to help?"

"I'm helping," Damian insisted, "by telling you that Grayson is home!"

"What?!" Elle jerked and yelped as the sharp metal dug into her flesh once more. "He's _early_! He's not supposed to be home until three!"

"It _is_ lunch time," Tim said logically as he stood up as well.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Elle tried to look up at them.

"I can barely see what I'm doing, Elle. I might be able to get you free in time, but what if I didn't? How do we explain how you got your arm stuck in the heating duct?" Tim spoke to her as he ran into Dick's bedroom.

"He's entering the building now, Drake! What are you doing?" Damian called.

Tim ran out of the bedroom with a large comforter and a box. He set the box on the table and then tossed the comforter over Elle's body.

"Curl up," he commanded.

Elle was obedient. What choice did she have?

"There is a black box on the kitchen table," she yelled through the thick material. "Hide it!"

There was a scramble of feet, a thump beside her, and then two heavy bodies leaning against her; squishing her up against the wall. She hissed at the pain the movement caused her, and then bit her lip to prevent more sounds from escaping. Then about thirty seconds of silence before there was a slide of a key in the lock.

* * *

Dick had been calling for the past couple of hours Elle's cell phone and his apartment phone with no answer. Everything just went to voicemail. If he hadn't been caught up with a multi-vehicle accident, he would have left in order to come home and check on her.

He had felt waves of numerous emotions that weren't coming from him. Anger, sadness, fear . . . The fear had been like an ocean wave of panic, and had threatened to send him to his knees. He had had panic attacks before; shortly after his parents had died, and a few times when he had first faced criminals the likes of Joker and Two-face, and after nightmares brought on by his many bad memories. This one had no rhyme nor reason to it. One minute he was doing his job, and the next he had been forced to sit down on the curb as he fought hyperventilation.

It had that feel of Elle to it, much like the time when she had interrupted that mugging. He had known it was her then and he did this time, too. Something had upset her and the severity of it had reached across the miles separating them and tried to strangle him by his throat. Then she refused to answer the phone . . .

Or else she couldn't!

No, he couldn't think like that. As soon as he had the opportunity, he promised the moon to his partner, Amy, to do the reports while he ran home for a family emergency. He had kept the squad car and used the lights and siren to cut his travel time in half. Despite his worry, he had hesitated when he had climbed out of the car. Bruce's Range Rover was parked a couple of spaces away.

He didn't know if he should be relieved or more worried than ever. Why was Bruce here? Why hadn't he called and told him that he was coming? If he couldn't call, at least he could have sent a text. Dick paused inside the building's entrance to check for messages and texts, but found nothing.

Perhaps more confused than before, Dick ran up the stairs; taking two at a time. He was unsure if he might need his gun or not. He unsnapped the safety strap, but left it in its holster. The door was locked. He couldn't label his emotions about that anymore, and just took out his keys to let himself in.

He needed to figure out what the hell was going on!

At first he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Then he noticed his junk drawer was practically dumped onto the kitchen table and countertops. What had she been looking for? Had she found it? Why didn't she clean up after herself? It was odd that Elle would leave a mess . . . She wasn't exactly a neat freak, but this was definitely out of character for her.

"Elle? Where are you? Are you okay?" Dick had one hand on his holster. He moved to the bedroom.

"Hey, Dick! You're home early!"

Dick spun about and saw Tim and Damian on the floor playing . . . Taboo? He blinked. What was that they were laying on? It was his comforter, but it was wadded up into a lump that his brothers were lounging on.

"Grayson," Damian nodded to him and then continued to hand out clues to Tim; practically ignoring Dick in favor of the game.

"Where's Elle? And Bruce for that matter?" Were they together?

"Bruce is home. He let me borrow the Rover to drive over here," Tim said, casually.

"And you two came together? Why?" These two couldn't be in a room together without another person to referee. "And where's Elle?" He repeated.

"Two words, Grayson," Damian sighed.

Dick waited.

"Game night," Tim answered.

Frustrated, Dick threw up his hands and headed into the bedroom. That wasn't the question he wanted answered first.

"Elle? Baby, are you in here?"

Dick checked the bathroom and stood staring at the bed. There were a pile of t-shirts and jeans lying there. She had been doing laundry that morning when he had left. He hadn't done his own laundry in a week, except taking care of his uniforms; both his police uniform and his Nightwing costume. Even so, he didn't have so much that he would have kept her busy all morning.

He hadn't told her he would be home for lunch, but neither had she told him she was going out. Her car was still in the shop, and would likely remain there indefinitely. If she went anyplace, it would have to be by cab or by foot. His neighborhood wasn't one he would feel comfortable letting Elle walk alone in, even at . . . He checked the clock beside the bed; twelve-eighteen in the afternoon. Especially not with Elle's luck lately.

Walking back into the living room, he eyed his brothers suspiciously. They knew something . . . They knew something and they were purposely acting obtuse. Why?

"Okay," he said, crossing his arms. "Spill it! Where's Elle?"

"She's not here," Damian announced, not looking at him.

Dick gritted his teeth. His gaze pinned Tim to the floor. "Where is she?"

Tim glanced up from his card with the list of Taboo words. "Out."

Dick took two steps forward, his hands curling into fists.

"Out! She's out!" Tim leaned back and held his hands up defensively. "I don't know where she went. She didn't say."

"She went to the grocery store, Grayson. Chill out!" Damian said. His voice remained calm, but his eyes said something else.

"The grocery store? She went shopping with me two days ago! Let's try this again; only tell me the truth this time." Dick took another step closer to his two younger brothers.

Damian scrambled into a sitting position. "She said she forgot something," he insisted.

"What, then? What did she forget," Dick challenged.

"Sauce," Tim inserted quickly.

Dick growled. "I thought you said she didn't tell you where she went?"

"I heard her mention she didn't have the sauce she wanted," Tim said. "For that Italian meal she said she was going to make. I didn't hear her leave."

"My apartment is two fucking rooms! How could you not hear her leave?" Dick yelled; his temper lost.

"Bathroom," Damian said. "Drake was in the bathroom when she left."

Dick marched into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. In it was the generic jar of spaghetti sauce that he had bought months back before he started dating an Italian singer, and beside it were all the ingredients that Elle needed to make whatever kind of sauce she wanted. He spun around, unholstered his weapon, and stalked back toward his uninvited guests. He laid the weapon on the table. Worry for his girlfriend consuming him, Dick decided he would _beat_ the information he needed out of them.

"She doesn't _buy_ sauce," he told them; allowing his anger to color his words. "She _makes_ the sauce! And we already have everything she needs right here in the cabinet. We can do this the hard way if you insist. It's your choice!"

Tim's eyes widened in alarm. Damian jumped to his feet and placed himself between his two older brothers. He held out his arms as if he had any hope of stopping the train that was bearing down on him.

"All I know is she said she was missing something she needed for the dinner she was making tonight. She told us to chill out here and she'd be back in a little while. That's all we know, I swear, Grayson! You need to calm the hell down," Damian blurted out a little desperately.

"Language," Dick muttered at the boy.

Damian snorted. "Like you didn't just drop the F-bomb seconds ago . . ." he muttered under his breath.

Dick looked back at Tim, who was gaping at him; his face pale. "Why didn't you drive her?"

"She said she wanted to walk," Tim told him.

Dick looked back at Elle's shoes and her coat draped neatly over a chair.

"She wore one of yours," Damian said, catching ahold of Dick's waist as he swept past. "She said it was warmer . . . And, and that it smelled like you! Something stupid and sappy like that!"

Dick paused, glancing down at the boy. That did sound like something Elle would say . . . But how would she walk anywhere without her boots? He looked back at the boots stacked neatly beside his.

"Tennis shoes," Damian blurted, already seeing where Dick's thoughts were taking him.

"Why are you acting so crazy, Grayson? What's gotten into you?" Damian asked. "You never threatened us before?"

Dick blinked. No, he didn't. He was the calm one. He looked at his brothers, guilty. "I'm sorry," he said, finally. "You're right. But I felt Elle's panic earlier. She was running a gauntlet of emotions and then she wasn't answering the phone. What was I supposed to think?"

"S-she seemed fine when we got here, Dick," Tim offered. "She didn't mention anything was upsetting her."

Dick rubbed his hand over his face and glanced back over at the mess in the kitchen. That was his clue, he thought. Elle didn't make messes, and when she did, she cleaned them up quickly. But this time, she had left one.

Maybe it was as his brothers told him, and she planned to clean this up when she returned, but this was so unlike her; a very un-Elle thing to do. He moved to the table, and swept a hand over the myriad of items there. She was looking for something, he thought, but she couldn't find it. He picked up a butter knife, frowning. The tip of it was bent. What had she been doing?

A screwdriver! The thought came to him instantly. She was needing a screwdriver. He found a discarded Phillipshead screwdriver on the table near it. Whatever it was required a flathead screwdriver, he determined, but Dick had needed it last time in the bathroom and had just tossed it in the drawer in the bathroom rather than bringing it back out here.

He might have believed the story about the screwdriver more easily than the one his brothers told of the sauce for one of Elle's Italian dishes. Would Elle have lied to them about why she needed to go out? She might have, but not without reason. Why would she lie to them about a screwdriver?

He still had the feeling that Elle needed him. He couldn't shake the idea that she was upset about something. His eyes swept over the items again, this time settling on the one thing that was out of place. A small box . . . Like one might get at a jewelry store . . .

His breath caught. He picked it up, but already knew it was empty. The velvet box that was kept inside was gone. He ran to the bedroom and yanked open his sock drawer. It wasn't there! Of course, it wasn't there! He was holding one part of it in his hand!

He had spent the better part of the past year staring at that damned ring and wallowing in self-pity; afraid to move on with his life. Since finding Elle, he hadn't thought about it; hadn't taken it out once. Barbara had crossed his mind once or twice since meeting Elle, but only briefly and he had immediately moved on rather than brood. How could he possibly brood over a love lost when he was staring at a love so much greater than any that had come before it? A love that would gaze back at him with just as much adoration as he felt for her.

But what was she feeling now?

He stopped and focused. Fear? Sadness? Yes. She was afraid. She was upset. And now Dick knew why . . .

He should have told Babs to keep the damned ring! He should have sold it or hocked it. He should have done a lot of things, but the one thing he shouldn't have done was keep it. Elle wouldn't leave him, he knew; not completely. The bond wouldn't let her, but when he thought about seeing her only once a week for the rest of his life from across the infinite expanse of a dinner table with no hope of crossing it; his chest felt hollow.

Perhaps she was wandering the streets now lost in thought; believing wrongly that he still harbored feelings for a past girlfriend. He cared for Babs still, sure, but nothing that would ever threaten what he and Elle had between them. Being the son of a billionaire, Dick had learned the difference between a cubic zirconia and a genuine diamond long ago. Sure, the cubic zirconia had sparkled prettily, but when placed beside the beauty of a perfect diamond; it lost its appeal and looked flat, its previous brilliance gone.

If Elle were out walking the street in this frame of mind, she might not be aware of the dangers around her. Gotham's criminal set were mostly restricted to the dark hours, but Bludhaven's underworld didn't restrict itself to the sewers in daytime hours. Its riffraff often walked the streets doing its harm in broad daylight.

He ran out to the living room and stormed over to the table for his gun. He wasn't Nightwing at the moment. He was Officer Grayson, and as such, he carried his service weapon. He holstered it, barely giving his brothers a glance.

"I'm going out," he snapped. "If Elle comes back while I'm gone, have her call me immediately!" He pinned them with a glare. "Do you understand me? _Immediately_!"

Tim gulped, still sitting in the same spot on his comforter; the game abandoned between them. "Yes, sir."

"If she calls, you will tell her to come home. No stops, no side trips, no distractions," he said firmly. "She's to come straight home. And then you will call me –_ immediately_! Got it?"

The boys were gaping at him. They nodded silently.

He turned away and practically ripped the door from its hinges; slamming it behind him as he took off running back to his patrol car. He could put an APB out on her, but wasn't sure he wouldn't get into trouble for using the department's resources for personal reasons. He would cruise the area first, and if he didn't see her in an hour, he would put out the APB, his job be damned! Like hell would he wait the required twenty-four hours it took to file a missing persons' report.

* * *

"He's gone," Damian assured his brother. "I can't _believe_ he fell for that."

Tim uncovered Elle. He grimaced when he saw the tears on her face.

"He knows," she murmured.

"He doesn't know or he wouldn't have left," Tim told her.

"He knows enough," she said.

"Nothing matters right now except getting you unstuck," Tim said. He moved around her into his previous position. "You can worry about it later. Damian, grab that flashlight and hold it for me so I can see what I'm doing."

He slid the switchblade back out of his boot, thumbed it open, and set to work. It was a matter of minutes before the sleeve was removed. Her arm was still wedged in and he and Damian slathered her arm in olive oil and helped her to ease it out. He winced at the scrapes and the small cuts she had gotten trying to get herself loose. He hoped that none of them were from him, however. He had been careful, but accidents happened.

"Are any of these from me," he asked, indicating the nicks that were oozing tiny trickles of blood.

Elle looked at them carelessly. "No."

"We need to clean them. That duct was filthy," he told her.

She looked back at the hole in the floor. "I need to get the ring out."

"What ring," Damian asked, kneeling down and peering in the hole with his flashlight.

"Dick's ring," she said. "The one I was trying to retrieve when I got my arm stuck. The one that belongs in that velvet box you rescued from the table."

Tim pulled the velvet box from his pocket. He set it back on the table.

"Maybe I can reach the ring," Damian announced. "My arm is smaller than yours."

"It is also shorter than hers," Tim told him. "If Elle couldn't reach it, then neither will you."

"I'll get the vacuum cleaner," Elle said. Her bathroom needs were forgotten temporarily. "I should have used it in the first place, but didn't think of it in my initial panic."

* * *

Five minutes later, Damian crowed, holding up the dusty, but none the worse for wear, diamond engagement ring. Elle packaged up the remnants of the vacuum cleaner bag to throw away. She placed a hand towel in the sink before she washed it off. They had just rescued the damned thing from the heating duct; she didn't feel like having to play plumber if she managed to drop it down the drain while attempting to clean it over the sink.

She set the ring in its velvet bed and closed the lid. A couple of minutes search found the ring's outer box sitting atop the dresser and Dick's sock drawer opened.

_Oh, yes_, she thought. _He knew that she knew now_.

Elle placed the case back in the box and covered it with its lid. Almost reverently, Elle replaced it back into Dick's sock drawer where she had found it and slid the drawer closed. She moved through the apartment picking up the mess she had made, and then putting the comforter away.

"He won't hate you."

Elle turned around to find Damian standing behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't answer him. What could she say?

"_Elle_," Damian used her first name for the first time. "He won't hate you! He's grateful to you."

She blinked at that. "For what? Breaking his trust?"

"For saving him from himself," the eleven year old told her. "She wasn't the right one for him," he said, looking in the direction of the sock drawer. "She never was. We all knew it, but it took _you_ to help _him_ to see it."

Elle smiled, and brushed a hand over the boy's hair affectionately. Damian's eyes closed briefly, as if savoring the touch, and her smile widened. He was such a little contradiction. He played at being tough and pretended he didn't need anyone, but he needed his family more than he knew, and he craved affection even as he continued to blow it off.

She pulled him into a hug. Damian stiffened for all of thirty seconds before 'just going with it' as Dick had told him. Elle took advantage and squeezed him a little tighter; even rocking him side to side a bit. The boy's arms slid hesitantly around her after a minute, and Elle sighed, content for the moment.

"Thank you, Damian," she said. She glanced up to where Tim stood silently in the doorway; his mouth agape at the taming of the little savage. "Thank you _both_."

Slowly, she released Damian and grinned at both of them. "I think I owe you both a dinner and a game night."

Tim nodded, and stepped in to hand her her cell phone. "Great," he said. "But right _after_ you call Dick, and tell him you're home safe and sound."

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Sorry this took so long . . . My schedule is being interrupted by very young family members in visiting for the month. ;D **

**Hope you enjoyed this! Like I said, "Angsty and Funny" at the same time.**


	48. To Be So Admired

As far as evenings go, it was a success. Elle had been surprised that Dick hadn't interrogated her as soon as he had walked in the door, but he hadn't. He shot Tim and Damian a look and went to shower and change. Elle stood inside of the bedroom as he dressed. She winced when he opened the sock drawer and saw the box had been returned to it.

* * *

Dick paused, staring at the ring that had caused so much problems. He could feel Elle's trepidation like he could his own heart. He didn't know what the exact cause of it was. Was it that she felt that because he didn't get rid of the ring he wasn't dedicated to their relationship? His anger flared, but it was directed at himself; himself and that damned ring!

He grabbed the box and ripped it open. He had no doubt that the ring was back inside of it. He pulled the ring out and threw the velvet box across the room so hard it dented the drywall. Elle cringed and he felt worse, and his anger grew.

He crushed the ring inside of his hand. He could feel the diamond cutting into his palm, but he didn't care. He moved toward the bathroom.

Elle jumped out and threw her arms around him, crying. "I'm sorry! I so sorry! I thought it was a gift for Bruce for Christmas! I shouldn't have touched it."

His arms slid around her shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for," he told her.

"But I made you so angry. I almost lost it," she admitted miserably. "And now you don't trust me anymore!"

"Of course, I trust you! Elle, you did nothing wrong. This was all on me." He leaned his forehead against hers; savoring the feel of her in his arms, the knowledge that she was safe, that she didn't hate him. "I should have gotten rid of this thing a long time ago. I had an unhealthy obsession with it up until recently," he admitted ruefully. "But I haven't thought about this ring since I first met you. I had completely forgotten about it, honestly, until I saw the gift box on the table earlier."

She didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.

"I was afraid that you thought I might still have feelings for her," he said.

"Do you?"

Even if he hadn't been able to feel the flash of fear within her, he could see it in her eyes.

"No," he promised her. "I mean, yes, I still care about her. I don't hate her, but I've since realized that what we had wasn't what I was looking for."

"And what are you looking for?" Hope flared up.

"I'm not looking for it anymore," he said, "because I've already found it."

Confusion made her nose crinkled adorably as Elle tilted her head. He couldn't resist leaning down to kiss the tip of it. He nearly laughed when she blushed.

"It's you, Elle. I found you," he murmured against her lips.

"But what if I . . ."

"Stop," he interrupted her. "Don't apologize for what you've given to me."

"And what have I given you besides headaches," she snarked.

"Unconditional love," Dick hugged her close. "I never dreamed that I would find that. Elle, do you not realize how rare that is? You don't judge me. You support me in everything I do. Most women couldn't handle a relationship with a cop, let alone a vigilante. I thought for the longest time that the only acceptance I would find would be in the hero community."

Elle leaned back and stared at him. "Wait. The hero community? Do you mean that Babs is . . ."

"She was." Dick was stepping into uncharted territory now. It was one thing to confirm the identities of family that Elle had already deduced herself; entirely another to tell her outright another hero's identity.

"She was? Meaning she's not anymore?" Elle frowned and then gasped. "D-did she . . . _die_?"

"What? No! I mean, she had to retire from active crime-fighting," Dick found himself explaining. "She was hurt. Oddly enough, she was hurt as a civilian and not as a crime-fighter. But she couldn't go out in the streets anymore after that."

"Oh," Elle's face contorted in sympathy. "That's kind of sad."

"It's something we prepare ourselves for," Dick told her. "She was angry and depressed for a time, but not much could keep Babs down for long. She found other ways to fight the good fight."

* * *

Elle watched him. His expressions; his eyes . . . She listened to his emotions. He admired this woman . . . Babs. Short for Barbara, Elle thought. The woman's name was Barbara and she had been a crime-fighter, a vigilante, like Dick.

"How long were you together?" She didn't know if Dick would answer her or not, but Elle needed to know if she had been the cause of their break up.

"On and off for years," he admitted.

On and off? Years? Elle's forehead crinkled in thought. That could mean so much.

"You don't _really_ want to know about my past girlfriends, do you?"

Elle looked up into Dick's face. He was uncomfortable talking about this. She probably shouldn't press, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Now that she had a name, seen tangible proof of this woman's existence, Elle had a need to know about her. What was it about her that had attracted Dick to her? What made him keep coming back?

"Did you date superheroes much?"

A blush rose up over his cheeks and he shrugged, letting Elle go to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

"A bit."

Translation: Almost entirely. Elle suddenly felt . . . _diminished_ somehow. Dick was apparently attracted to strong women, athletic women, women who were the ultimate in competency, women who could kick butt . . . Not women who were klutzy, women who were relatively sedentary, who found themselves being walked over by their overbearing fathers and stepped on by hate-filled, abusive brothers.

But she could swim! It wasn't a superpower . . . Not exactly. Actually, it was kind of lame. There was Aquaman, but he could talk to fish and was super strong and had a cool trident. Elle could hold her breath a really long time and dive from relatively large heights with minimal splash. Not really something that lent itself to the world of heroes well.

She could sing, but what good would _that_ do her if someone was about to punch her in the face? She could project her emotions, so maybe she could give the bad guys panic attacks since that is what she would be feeling if she had to actually face down evil villains.

This idea that Dick was attracted to women who were heroes sparked her curiosity about her Atlantian heritage again. After the first week, she stopped thinking much about it, but now she wondered exactly what she was capable of doing; _of being_. Would Dick love her more if she could learn to hold her own in his world?

She thought about that man, Arthur Curry, who came to talk with her. She wondered if he would help her find out more about her Atlantian ancestors if she asked him. He had left some kind of communicator with Dick. It looked just like a regular, old shell to her, but what did she know of such things. Dick had showed it to her, and both he and Arthur promised her that she had the freedom to use it any time she wanted when more questions arose.

Suddenly she was filled with questions. Suddenly she wanted to meet one of her own kind. Well, one of part of her kind? She was mostly human, so really she was with her own kind, but she wanted to meet a real-life Siren and discover what all she might still be capable of if only she knew how. She hoped that Arthur would be able to help her. Being only half-Atlantian, he might just be on the fringe of things; the full-blooded Atlantians merely tolerating his presence sometimes.

"What are you thinking?"

Dick voice brought her out of her revelry.

"That I'd like to take a trip," she smiled at him finally.

It would take some doing, but she might be able to arrange something sometime after the holidays. She might never be a super hero, and honestly, she didn't really want to be. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle the stress of it on a daily basis. But Dick admired strong women . . . He liked women who could hold their own in a fight. He had preferred women who were capable of tackling trouble and coming out on top.

Elle would never be a hero or vigilante like Babs, but maybe she could become capable enough one day that Dick wouldn't worry about her walking home at night, or freak out when he couldn't get her on the phone. She didn't really mind his overprotectiveness. It was kind of sweet. And his overreactions were sort of cute. They were both symptoms of his love, and really how could she complain about that?

Dick looked startled at her change in subject, but it had only been a couple of months. He couldn't be expected to be able to follow her train of thought yet. Her smile grew wider. He might be more comfortable if he never actually learned that trick.

She glanced down at his still-clenched hand.

"So, what are you going to do with that," she asked, moving back to the present.

He opened his hand and looked down at the ring. "It represents something that is never going to happen," he murmured. He then met her gaze. "And I am more than okay with that."

When he turned on his heel and strode purposely into the bathroom, Elle hurried to follow him. What was he going to do? When he tilted his hand over the toilet and watched the ring plop into the water, she gasped.

"Dick! What are you doing," she yelped in surprise.

He flushed it, and the both watched the diamond wink once in the light before disappearing into the sewer system.

"I can't believe you did that!" Elle gaped. "I mean, you didn't have to . . ."

Dick grasped Elle's shoulders. "I should have done this a long time ago. Elle, the only thing keeping that ring would accomplish is to hurt you, and I would do anything to keep you from being hurt."

There is was, she thought a little glumly. He was admitting that he thought she was weak. And while she appreciated and even liked his protective streak, Elle thought of how much more she would like it if he could admire her . . . like he did Babs and those other girlfriends she hope to never learn about.

"You are the sweetest man," she said, slipping her arms around his neck. Making out in front of the toilet wasn't in her top ten list of the best places to get it on with your man, but it would do in a pinch.

Several minutes later, there was a pounding on Dick's bedroom door.

"Hey! What are you two doing in there? When's dinner?"

Damian . . .

"Go away," Dick yelled.

Elle laughed. "Be out in a minute," she called out.

Dick raised his eyebrow at her. "You know, you really shouldn't encourage them like this."

"Why not?" Elle gave him a quick peck and started tugging his hand back into the bedroom.

"Because you'll spoil them," Dick complained. "And they will think that they can just show up any time they please and interrupt . . . our . . . um, plans."

"I have plans, but they happen later. After dinner and game night," she winked at him.

* * *

Dick followed her out into the living area. Damian and Tim were lounging about, working hard at looking nonchalant when they were fully aware of what was happening behind closed doors. Or what might have happened behind closed doors if one of them hadn't started banging on it!

His mind kept going back to that statement she had made seemingly straight out of the blue. A trip? What brought that on? Why did she want to travel now? Where did she want to go? Did she plan to go alone or did she want him to go with her? It was enough to keep him distracted throughout the majority of the evening; much to everyone's annoyance. Well, that depended on who he was partnered with during the games part of the evening.

They saw the boys off early enough that they could get home before Bruce began tracking them, and made their way back into his apartment. He helped Elle clean up the last of the dinner and put the games away. But it wasn't until they were curled up in his bed and things were quiet that he brought it up again.

"What trip," he asked softly; his lips against her hair.

"What?"

His hand did its own traveling across the bare expanse of her stomach. Elle hummed with pleasure. It was nice that she was just as physical as he was. She loved his touch and arched into every stroke and caress.

"What trip?" He kissed along her temple and her jaw. Elle turned into him and met his lips with her own.

"Trip?" She murmured, sliding her mouth along his chin and down his neck.

His breath caught. She found that sensitive spot on his neck that always made him a little crazy.

"You said you wanted to take a trip earlier," he gasped out as she rolled on top of him.

She gazed down at him with radiant eyes, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. She loved him. She adored him. She was happy with him in her life. She laughed down at him; her world content.

"Well, I _was_ thinking about taking you for a _ride,_" She grinned as she sat up and straddled his hips. She rolled her hips in a circle. "Around the block a few times."

Dick gasped and grabbed her hips. Growling, he flexed his own hips; lifting her up and make her squeal with delighted laughter. The conversation deteriorated from there, but Dick didn't mind. There was time enough to ask his questions later.

They had a different destination at the moment, and right now, he was busy taking her to heaven and back.

* * *

Elle was dozing when Dick slipped back into the bedroom. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, hoping he didn't actually wake her, but wanting to keep his promise.

"I'm heading out now, sweetheart. I'll be back sometime around five, if not sooner," he crooned softly.

Elle hummed in sleepy contentment and rolled onto her back. She stretched; a luxurious movement that made Dick want to climb back under the covers with her. It was ten o'clock at night, however, and he should have been out there patrolling two hours ago.

Her eyes blinked open and she took in the uniform he was wearing. She sat up and Dick moved back to sit beside her. Her gaze swept over him with relative calm and no small amount of pride. His heart swelled with the knowledge that she approved of him. Her fingers plucked the mask out of his hands.

"Be careful," he told her. "I already applied the spirit glue to it."

She held it up and Dick helped her by turning it right-side up. Elle licked her lips in concentration as she carefully applied the mask to Dick's face. Before her eyes, he went from the man who held her heart to the hero of her dreams. His amazing, cerulean-blue eyes stared out of the mask at her; their brilliance seemed to be highlighted by the dark material surrounding them.

He started when he noticed the swell of tears in her own warm, brown eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She smiled and a tear escaped to slide down one soft cheek.

"You amaze me," she whispered. "You astound me. Your generosity and courage are beyond measure. You have got to be the best man I've ever met; both in the uniform and out of it. I'm so proud of you; so proud, too, that you're mine."

They were words he had always hoped to hear. He had heard a few of them before at different times, from different people, but never together like this with such passion behind them. He had always taken the words at face value and tried not to doubt them before, but this time, from this woman, they meant the world to him. More so because he knew she meant them; knew they came straight from her heart.

He caught her face in his palms and kissed her hard. All of his love and gratitude sewn up into it. He was suddenly happier than he ever felt before, and it was all because of Elle; his lovely, precious Elle who was proud of him and unselfish enough to share him with the people of Bludhaven; understanding enough to know and accept a part of him that he would never be able to change for anyone. It meant more than words could say to know that she had no desire to change him; that she loved him exactly as he was.

* * *

He promised he would give her a call on her cell phone sometime between one-thirty and two a.m. as he flicked down the white, opaque lenses that hid his eyes. Elle shivered a little as he climbed silently through the window and shot a line to a building across the street and swung out. He had a bike hidden out there somewhere, he had told her. He would travel to the start of his patrol route, hide it, and then follow a circuitous route that would lead him right back to his bike at which time he would head home.

He had scribbled out a map for her and marked on it where his approximate location would be when he called her in a few hours. Elle closed the window; leaving it unlocked for his return. He had chosen to exit from a window away from the fire escape so she could do that and feel relatively safe. He disappeared into the shadows, and after a few minutes she heard the sound of a motorcycle. It was far quieter than any normal motorcycle. If she hadn't been listening for it, she might not have noticed it at all.

A tiny flicker of fear traced it way through her veins. The knowledge that this was the last time she might see him alive sent a shiver through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. But she trusted him. Elle had seen him in action once and she had thought that he had seemed invincible then. She knew better, but he was so amazingly quick and agile, she thought it would be miraculous if the bad guy ever had the opportunity to lay a hand on him.

Turning away from the window, she padded across the room and slid open another drawer in his dresser. In one corner, beneath his collection of t-shirts, lay the shell. He had shown her where he had kept it, and even offered to give it to her to keep. She had refused at the time because she had just been overwhelmed with more information than she knew how to process. Elle had had no desire at the time to accrue more.

Now, however, she did.

Picking it up, she held it in her hand. She would never know it was a communicator from this angle. Turning it over, she could see inside of it a glimpse of the technology that enabled her to talk to someone in the bottom of the ocean. It was the middle of the night in Atlantis as well. She would call Arthur in the morning. They would discuss her options and see where that would lead her.

Satisfied with her plan, Elle crawled back into the warmth of Dick's bed and breathed deep the scent of him from his linens. Not quite like being in his arms, but good enough for now. She picked up her cell phone from the bedside table and set it on the pillow beside her head.

She didn't want to miss his call.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**A possible trip to Atlantis? This could be a good thing or it could be a very bad idea . . . Wonder what her reaction will be when she discovers that the mere half-Atlantian Arthur Curry is really King Odin of Atlantis? LOL! **


	49. Meet Mook

**This is approximately three days after the last chapter.**

**WARNING: Language . . . And Laughter!**

* * *

Dick was exhausted. The night didn't go nearly as well as he would have liked. He was too late in two separate incidents, and one person died while the other victim had been traumatized. It was nights like this that made him question if what he was putting himself through was worth it. Nights like tonight made it feel as though Bludhaven hadn't improved at all despite all his efforts both as a cop and as Nightwing. He wondered if Bruce ever had times like these.

He climbed through Elle's kitchen window, thankful that she wasn't the type to leave dirty dishes soaking as he planted one foot in one side of the stainless steel sink. He slid the window down and locked it; pulling off his mask and tossing it onto the countertop. He probably should have gone to his own apartment, but he needed Elle's comfort tonight. So far she was handling his Nightwing activities like a trouper. It had only been a few days since he started calling her midway through his patrol, and so far it seemed to be going well.

There were no dramatics and she hadn't asked him to come home. Instead, she had asked him how his night was going and congratulated him when he'd stop a crime, and encouraged him when things weren't going well. The calls lasted only a minute. She didn't try to keep him on the phone longer than necessary. It was because of Elle's encouragement that he had remained on patrol for the entire night instead of giving up halfway through and going home.

He had stayed on and had rescued a child from a burning building, and interrupted two drug deals; one of them leading to arrests. So, the night wasn't a total waste. Actually that little boy was alive this morning because of him. That made for a pretty successful night, if he were being honest with himself; remembering the feeling he had when he had handed the child off to his grateful parents. It could have turned out so much worse for that young family if not for Elle's encouragement.

He stripped off his tunic and peeked into Elle's bedroom. She was sleeping catty-cornered with one foot dangling off one side of the bed; adorable, little toes peeking out from under the blankets. The sight made him smile.

She was the reason he stayed out tonight. She would be the reason he would go out tomorrow night as well. Sure, he had been doing this for more than a decade for reasons of justice and to prevent tragedies like what had happened to him and his family from happening again, but since he met Elle the idea that she might meet up someday with one of those lowlifes out there kept him motivated like never before.

He had told her he might be dropping by at the end of the night. Dick had kind of hoped that maybe she might have stayed up for him, but he smelled like smoke so, in the end, he thought it worked out better this way since it gave him time to shower first. He tossed his uniform into her washer, and grabbed a towel.

Ten minutes later, he dropped the towel on the floor by the bed and crawled in beside her. She had her back to him, so he moved to the middle of the bed and wrapped his arm around her waist to drag her back towards him. She muttered something under her breath, but didn't completely wake up. He moved her hair away from her face and kissed the skin behind her ear. She grinned without opening her eyes and stretched, sighing in contentment.

He smiled. Even asleep she could make him happy. He settled in behind her and buried his nose in her hair. Despite his tension, he was asleep in a couple of minutes.

* * *

Elle waited until Dick's breathing evened out. He seemed so run down tonight and she had felt his upset earlier when he had been too late to help some of those victims. She felt a pang of guilt over what she was about to do, but he already knew that she had a quirky sense of humor. He should be expecting this! In the end, she knew he would feel better for it.

She contorted several different way in order to squirm out from under his arm while not waking him up. She padded over to her closet as the promise of the morning sun started brightening the sky over Bludhaven. She bit her lip as she looked at the jar's contents in the dim lighting.

She set the jar on the dresser softly. Then went back in to get her video camera and its tripod, setting it up as quietly as possible. She was wearing a red, pro-football jersey that reached mid-thigh; long enough to cover her silky, black underwear. She wasn't sure if Dick was wearing anything to bed or not, but if he wasn't, then this video was about to become her favorite!

Elle had only been able to indulge this side of her personality while at boarding school. Of course, she had come close to being sent home on a few of those occasions, but now, away from the strictures of school, she was thrilled to discover that Dick had a similar sense of humor as she. Oh, sure he was bound to get his revenge on her sooner or later, but that was all a part of the fun! While some might consider this a little mean, none of it was cruel, and she was certain that Dick would forgive her eventually.

Happy with the angle of the camera, she turned it on. The sun was just coming over the horizon and the room was bright enough now to capture everything that was about to happen.

Elle looked into the camera, grinning madly; barely able to keep her laughter withheld. She raised a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, and then took the jar and held it up to the lens so that the viewer got a good look at what it contained . . .

A very large, hairy tarantula!

She had borrowed it from the son of one of their neighbors. Although Elle wasn't especially fond of spiders herself, it wouldn't actually be crawling on her. She made a show of removing the lid. She attempted to suppress a shudder, but knew the camera would pick it up. But the fact that she didn't care for the little beasty only added to the fun!

She tiptoed over to Dick's side of her bed. The covers only came up to Dick's bare chest. He had rolled over onto his back at some point, but as she watched, her suspicions that he was faking sleep eased. His breathing hadn't changed; it was still slow and deep.

Oh, so gently, Elle shook the jar. Just as the tarantula tipped out of the jar onto the blankets covering his stomach, Dick sat up suddenly; tossing the covers back with a yell.

Elle screamed!

The jar flew up out of her hands and over her head to shatter on the floor somewhere near the end of the bed! The tarantula flew skyward as well, landing on Elle shoulder, in her hair. The second screech went up louder and shriller than the first as Elle began hopping from foot to foot; dancing in circles as she brushed at her hair and shirt hysterically.

"Get it off! _Get it** off**_," Elle shrieked.

The arachnid flew back onto the covers, and immediately Dick flung the blankets off of him as he jumped out of bed. The spider fell onto the floor with the blankets and, perhaps to save itself from the rapidly drumming feet, promptly scurried under the bed.

Elle was still howling as she made the impressive leap from the floor onto the bed. She hopped back and forth from foot to foot on the mattress in a panic, her eyes huge as she squealed in terror.

"Is it off? Is it off? Oh, my God, I can't believe that thing was in my hair!" She shook her hair with her hands. "_Ugh_! I can still feel its legs on me!"

* * *

Dick fell to his knees and peered under the bed. The morning light couldn't penetrate the gloom beneath the bed, however, and he knee-walked in his black boxer-briefs over to the nightstand in search of a flashlight.

"What the hell was that thing?" He yelled, but Elle couldn't hear him over her own yelps and shrieks. Dick began rummaging through the drawer.

"_Ew_," she squealed. "It was on me! _Gross_!"

"Elle! Where's the flashlight," Dick asked her. "Elle!"

"I'm going to have to wash my hair again . . ."

When she didn't answer, Dick reached over and grabbed her ankle to get her attention. The touch was unexpected, however, and Elle yelped. Losing her balance, Elle fell onto the mattress on her bottom; bouncing a little upon impact.

"Elle! Where is the flashlight that's supposed to be in this drawer?"

Elle blinked at him a moment, catching her breath.

"The flashlight?" He repeated.

"The flashlight?" She stared at him blankly.

Dick pointed to the drawer. Elle followed his finger to the drawer and repeated her question, "flashlight?"

"Oh. Oh!" She suddenly understood what he was asking her. "I took it in the living room. The camera fell down behind the entertainment center again."

Dick stood up and glanced over at the video camera sitting on the tripod. "That camera?"

Elle looked over at the camera as if she hadn't noticed it there before and then raised an innocent eyebrow at him. "Well, yeah! I think it would be rather obvious, even to you, that I managed to rescue it," she said reasonably.

Dick stared at her, exasperated. "You're supposed to return the flashlight to the drawer when you finish with it. How else will you find it in emergencies?"

Before Elle can answer, something large, black, and hairy scrambled across Dick's bare foot. Dick yelped, leaping onto the bed with Elle. He did his own little dance of disgust as Elle crawled cautiously to the edge of the bed in order to see where it had gone, but Dick's movements had apparently startled it and it disappeared . . . somewhere.

"Holy . . . _Gah_! What the _hell_ was that . . . that _thing_?!" Dick demanded. So what if his voice was an octave higher!

Elle crawled around the edge of the bed on her hands and knees, looking for it. "I didn't see where it went, did you?"

Dick shuddered as he kept to the center of the bed. To say that freaked him out a little bit was being kind.

"It ran across my foot, Elle! _What the hell_!"

Elle leaned over the side of the bed searching; her hair hanging down to puddle on the floor. "We need the flashlight," she announced. "Dick, go into the living room and get it."

Dick gaped at her backside. "_Hell, No_! I'm not getting off of this bed! _You_ go get it!"

Elle looked at him over her shoulder. "_What_! Are you nuts? _I'm_ not going to go get it!"

"Don't look at me like that," he complained. "I'm not going to go anywhere until you tell me what that thing is!"

Elle rolled back until she was sitting on her heels. She grinned up at him. "Don't tell me you are afraid of a little spider!"

Dick's eyes widened as he pointed dramatically in the direction of the floor. "A what? I don't know what the hell that thing was, but it wasn't a spider and it sure as _hell_ wasn't '_little_'!"

Elle giggled. "It was too a spider! What else could it have been?"

"I don't know," Dick glared at her. "A dog, maybe?"

"A _dog_?" Elle laughed harder. "Seriously?"

Dick held his fingers about an inch apart. "Spiders are like this big," he told her. "That thing," he moves his hands nearly twelve inches apart, "is like this! It was huge! It had weight," he qualified, shuddering. "I felt its weight as it ran across my foot."

Elle scoffed, giggling still. "It wasn't that big."

"The size of a Chihuahua," Dick declared.

Laughing, Elle shook her head. "It was just a tarantula, sweetie."

Dick stopped pacing to gape at her. "You threw a _tarantula_ on me while I was sleeping?!"

"I didn't _throw_ anything. I shook it out gently. And you weren't _sleeping_ because you threw it on me," she told him.

"I didn't know what you were doing; only that you were being sneaky while doing it. I had only planned to startle you and then drag you back into bed," Dick explained, still standing above her.

"Whatever." Elle said, grinning. "You're looming,"

"What? Looming?" Dick stared at her confused.

"Yes, looming . . . over me," she said. "And you still have to go get that flashlight."

Dick stretched a little bit in order to peer over side of the bed. "You want me to go down there? Not on your life!"

Elle gaped at him. "B-but you have to. How else are we going to find it?"

"I don't have to do anything," he reminded her. "I could still go back to my tarantula-less apartment to sleep."

Elle's eyes widened in disbelief. "Y-you'd leave me here? Stranded? With that huge, eight-legged, hairy dog under my bed?"

Dick grinned for the first time. "I thought you said it wasn't a dog."

She smacked his ankle. "_Shut up_!"

* * *

Dick jumped to the edge of the bed, and using his momentum, he did a forward flip midair. He landed on his hands and then did a backward handspring to land at the threshold of the door. Elle gaped at his acrobatic grace. He did that almost silently! If she had tried that . . .

Oh, who was she kidding! If she had tried that, she would have landed in a heap on the floor with such a thump that the people below her would have called 911. She gazed longingly after him as he disappeared from view. Was he _really_ going to leave her here?

Less than a minute later, Dick walked back into the room and dropped to the floor by the bed with the newly-acquired flashlight in hand. He pointed it into the gloom and flicked on the light. He was startled to find himself staring face-to-face with the tarantula. Before he could do anything to apprehend the beast, the spider darted forward and then jumped on him! It landed on his upper arm and scrambled up the side of his face, onto his head and then down his back!

"Aaargh!" Dick clambered to his feet in a panic. "It _jumps_! You didn't tell me that thing could freaking jump!" He began jumping frantically himself in an effort to shake the tarantula off of him.

Elle leapt to her feet and began hopping about as she shrieked in both laughter and in sympathy for him. The tarantula fell to the floor and darted back under the bed as Dick threw the flashlight at it.

"Don't kill Mook!" Elle yelped suddenly.

He had missed (unfortunately), and the flashlight rolled away across the floor.

"What? Who's Mook?"

"The spider," Elle told him with a hesitant smile.

He blinked at her. "You named the tarantula Mook?"

"It was better than Bob," she said with a shrug. She wanted no reminders of Babs, thank you very much.

"Who's Bob"

"It was the spider until I renamed him," Elle smiled.

"Wait! I thought you said the spider's name was Mook," Dick was frowning and foolishly trying to follow Elle's thought process. Silly man . . .

"It was Bob first but now it is Mook," Elle explained in an amazingly calm fashion.

"Bob?" Dick shook his head slowly. "You named the tarantula Bob and then changed it to Mook."

Elle laughed. "No, David did. I just changed it to Mook."

"Who the hell is David?" Dick glanced warily at the dark area beneath the bed; making certain that Bob/Mook didn't attack him again.

"The neighbor's little boy," Elle said. "The one I borrowed Mook from."

Dick stared at her. "How did you know this kid had a pet tarantula, and what in God's name made you decide it would be a good idea to toss him on me?"

"Well, it was either Mook or Turtle."

"I think I would have voted for Turtle," Dick muttered.

"Turtle is a boa constrictor," Elle told him.

Dick blinked. "Who would name a boa constrictor Turtle?"

"David's six. Do you really expect rationale from a six year old?"

Dick was frankly speechless.

"Anyway," Elle continued, sitting down on the bed again in a cross-legged position, "I didn't think I could keep the boa constrictor contained. I was afraid he would get into the ventilation system."

She shuddered, trying to imagine attempting to retrieve the snake from the heating duct. The ring was bad enough. She noticed Dick staring at her.

"What?"

He shook his head slowly. "You scare me sometimes," he admitted.

Elle grinned, delighted. "Really?"

Dick snorted. "You _do_ realize that we're going to have to move now, right? My apartment is big enough for most of your stuff, but some will need to go into storage."

Elle laughed at him; ignoring his suggestion. "So, what are we going to do now? I don't think I can sleep with a tarantula loose under the bed."

"Sleep?" Dick laughed. "Who can sleep?"

"Oh, no," Elle looked suddenly remorseful. "I'm sorry, Dick. It wasn't meant to go on this long. You were supposed to get a little startle, a good laugh, some great sex, and then a nice cuddle as you drifted off to sleep."

Dick's expression softened as he smiled at her. "Don't be sorry," he said. "It was a good prank . . . And I certainly can't fault the rest of the plan. But, tell me something, after the startle who exactly did you see capturing the tarantula and putting him back?"

Elle bit her bottom lip as she looked ruefully at the broken glass at the end of the bed. So much for the jar . . .

"Um, I guess I kind of forgot that part of the plan . . ."

Dick laughed and padded off into another part of the apartment. Elle listened as he rattled around in the kitchen for something. After a couple of minutes, Dick reentered the bedroom with one of Elle's colanders she used for pasta in his hand. He did a little hop and flipped into the bed beside her and set Elle tumbling over from the force of the bounce when he landed on the mattress.

"_Ta-da_!" He waved the kitchen implement with a flourish. "Problem solved."

Elle looked up at him from where she had sprawled, impressed. "Genius! So, how are we going to get Mook out from under the bed for you to capture him with my favorite colander?"

Dick smiled. "You are going to get the flashlight and from that side of the bed, you are going to herd him out toward me. I will place the colander over him."

Elle was horrified. "That's a _terrible_ plan," she cried. "I can't do that?"

"Why not," he asked her. "Would you rather capture Mook with the colander instead?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "I am disappointed in you. Nightwing would never ask a victim to sacrifice herself in order to capture the criminal," she deadpanned.

Dick smiled as he reminded her of a forgotten fact. "Elle, _**I**_ am the victim here."

Elle narrowed her eyes at him for another long minute, and then slumped as she sighed, defeated.

"Where is that damned flashlight," she grumbled as she crawled to the other side of the bed.

* * *

An hour and a half later, curtains drawn against the bright morning sun, Dick pressed a kiss to Elle's bare shoulder; sighing as he spooned her back. He might be short a couple of hours sleep, but he felt so much better; so much more relaxed that he thought he wouldn't miss them overly much.

"Dick?" Elle murmured.

"Hm?"

"I think we should keep Mook."

His eyes popped open. "What?"

"I said, I think we . . ."

"I heard you," he interrupted. "I just couldn't believe it."

She made a production of rolling onto her back in his arms, and smiled up at him with those gorgeous browns that seemed to warm him up from the inside out.

"Well, I kind of felt like we bonded over that last twenty minutes or so while we were trying to catch him," she told him softly.

"You bonded with me," he reminded her. He suppressed a shudder as he remembered how the two of them had chased that thing throughout the apartment for a half an hour. It wouldn't have taken so long if Elle hadn't kept squealing, and then dropped the colander to run away the first three times they had cornered the creepy arachnid. "Don't tell me that bond can extend to over-sized arachnids . . ."

She leaned up to kiss him. As kisses went, it was a pretty great one, and when she finally pulled away, Dick was left feeling dizzy.

"Please?"

"Elle, where would we keep him? He wouldn't be happy living under your colander," Dick whined.

"I'll go out and buy him a terrarium this afternoon," she promised.

Dick groaned. "Don't you have rehearsals this afternoon?"

Elle's lip protruded in the cutest pout he had ever seen. "Are you telling me that I need to practice my singing?"

He kissed her. "You sing beautifully," he assured her.

"Can I take that as a yes," she asked.

"Only in the broadest possible terms could you _ever_ take that as a yes," he remarked sarcastically.

She batted those long, dark eyelashes at him and gazed at him with those beautiful eyes.

"Thank you," she said in a hesitant and yet hopeful manner.

Dick sighed. Why did he even try? He should have known he would lose. But as he gazed down at her and saw all the love in the world gazing back at him, he knew that with Elle he could never lose.

"Okay," he said against her mouth. "Why not?"

She gave a little squeal of happiness and snuggled closer into his embrace. Dick chuckled, and settled his head down next to hers. He was just falling into contented slumber when Elle's voice drifted into his consciousness.

"Dick?"

"Hmph," he replied, sleepily.

"Did you think to turn off the camera?"

His eyes popped open.

Elle giggled. "This is so going to be my most favorite home movie . . . Like _EVER_!"

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Aw, Dick and Elle have a pet! LOL! And I'd pay BIG money to watch that video . . .**

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	50. Anwering Machine Revelations

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

Dick didn't know why he was stopping by Elle's place instead of his own. She wasn't home. She had left a message on his phone that she was going into the studio for rehearsals or a demo or something like that. He kind of stopped listening when she said she would be out for most of the day. Instead he felt bummed.

He was all but living with her. He was here most of the time when he wasn't working or patrolling; the rest of the time, Elle was at his place. To have a day when she wasn't waiting for him when he came home from work felt like the worst kind of loneliness. He wondered if it was the bond that caused it. Cedric said they could be away from each other for days at a time without hardship and even a few months if they kept in touch. Or maybe he just liked her company.

Dick dropped a couple of grasshoppers into Mook's terrarium, and watched the spider begin to stalk them. He shivered. What the hell was Elle thinking? She had told him later that the boy's mother was planning on getting rid of Mook, and that was why she chose that night to play her prank on him, because Mook would have been gone the next day anyway. Apparently the boy kept a lot of strange pets, including a boa constrictor named Turtle.

Dick had only wanted a dog. Okay, a dog and an elephant, but Bruce insisted that they had had no time for pets. Eventually he had gotten Ace, but that took a lot of begging and wheedling to accomplish. He couldn't help but wonder what Bruce's take on a tarantula would have been.

He moved into Elle's bedroom and started stripping. A shower and a change later, Dick was rubbing his hair dry with a towel when he walked into the kitchen to see what there was in the way of leftovers. He had to be careful. Elle was a fantastic cook; like Alfred-level type of cook. If didn't watch himself, he would have to design a roomier Nightwing costume that would fit the extra pounds he was bound to gain.

Was that a fresh salad? Elle must have tossed it together before she left today. Fresh minestrone soup and leftovers from the best lasagna he had ever tasted beckoned. Seriously, if Elle ever decided to stop singing, she would make a fortune opening an Italian restaurant. She had laughed when he had suggested it; telling him that her grandmother was the cook in the family. He couldn't imagine it, but since then he had played with the idea of going with Elle the next time she visited her grandmother.

* * *

The answering machine light was blinking Dick noticed as he settled on the couch, setting his meal on the coffee table. And now that he noticed, he found he couldn't ignore it. But this was Elle's answering machine, not his. Of course, most of the people they knew either as a couple or even individually were aware that they spent most of their time together, so if you couldn't find one of them in one location, everyone knew to try the other location.

Dick punched the button to listen to the messages. He would just make certain that Elle knew who called and when. He picked up the pad and paper sitting next to the answering machine on the table. He hit the wrong button and instead of starting with the new messages, Dick took the messages back to the beginning. Luckily, there were only two to get through before he got to the new one. He supposed he could skip them, but when the first message began playing, he pulled his finger back to listen.

"Buongiorno mia piccola Bella. Speravo di trovarti a casa, ma non sono stata fortunate," came a woman's musical voice over the speaker. "Tuo padre ci ha detto delle tue novità, mia cara. Hai finalmente trovato la tua anima gemella." ("Good morning, my little Bella. I was hoping to catch you t home, but unfortunately, this is not my luck today. Your father told us of your news, my dear. You've finally met your bondmate.")

Dick's eyebrows raised in surprise once he realized that the woman that left the message must be Elle's grandmother. He knew Italian, fortunately, but it didn't take a detective to figure it out.

"Rispondimi al più presto per comunicarci la data. Io e tuo nonno dobbiamo organizzarci per venire. Bellina, non mancheremmo al tuo matrimonio per niente al mondo!" ("You have to call us back with the date so that your grandfather and I can make arrangements. Sweet, little Bella, we would not miss your wedding for the world!")

W-wedding?

"Abbiamo sentito molto parlare di questo giovane, Richard n vediamo l'ora di conoscerlo. Baci. Ciao." ("We've heard a lot about this young man, this Richard Grayson. We look forward to meeting him. Love and kisses. Goodbye.")

Elle's grandmother knew about him, obviously, and now she appeared to be expecting a wedding invitation. The message ended and Dick discovered that it was from a week ago. Funny, that Elle never mentioned it before.

The second message came up. It was another from Mrs. Constanzo. This one was short, but not nearly so sweet. Dick's mouth dropped open in surprise. The pleasant sounding woman from the first message was gone, and Dick realized Elle's grandmother had a temper to rival the Roman Empire. This time the woman ripped her granddaughter up one side and down the other for not getting married; accusing Elle of prostituting herself and ruining her good reputation, saying that no man would buy a cow if he got the milk for free. The date for this one was four days ago.

Again, he had heard nothing about it. Why wouldn't Elle tell him about this?

Dick lost interest in the new message as he thought about it, he began to recognize key personality traits about his girlfriend that never occurred to him before. Like the fact that he had instigated everything with the exception of Elle's initial serenade. Curious, Dick went over to where Elle stored her videos and located the one she had told him about weeks ago; the one from which she had taken a frame in order to make the picture of the two of them dancing that first time.

He popped the tape in and settled back to reminisce of the night they had met over his meal. It was still warm, at least. Good food, good music, and a pretty girl . . . What more could he ask for, except for maybe the actual presence of that pretty girl?

Dick enjoyed himself; amazed again over the connection between them that was visible through that video. He also realized that Elle's emotional projections could be felt even through various media sources. It was no wonder they had received the applause that they did. Elle's happiness and excitement simply permeated every inch of the building.

His attention became riveted when he watched Elle making her way toward the camera. Here was something new; a part of the evening that Dick hadn't been aware was happening at the time. He watched amused and fascinated by Elle's conversation with the reporter, Maria Sanchez; even blushing at some of the comments thrown his way. But Elle was adorable. He had thought that maybe she had been interested in him at the time, but he had also considered that maybe she had chosen him because he had been one of the few unattached men present. This put an end to that idea.

She had wanted him . . . Dick's grin widened.

But there it was again, that old-fashioned idea that the male pursued the female. He had to admit he personally enjoyed the pursuit, so maybe she wasn't so wrong after all. Elle had stepped out of her comfort zone by serenading him. The idea that she might have put him off by embarrassing him was laughable. He had been well and truly struck by cupid's arrow, he remembered. But he was beginning to understand why she hadn't told him about her grandmother's phone calls. His beautiful Arabella was waiting on him to propose to her of his own free will and in his own time.

The bond made that free will kind of moot, but he had known even before the bond had permanently attached to him that he had wanted her in the worst way . . . And the best way, and in every way in between.

No pressure.

Elle had made clear time and again that she wanted his love and devotion, but only if he wanted to give it. Dick suddenly understood that no matter what it did to her relationship with her family, Elle would never bring up the subject of marriage first. She would never try to guilt him into proposing. In fact, Dick realized that they could live out their entire lives as they were now, and Elle would never even hint that she wanted more from him . . . Not unless the idea for it came from Dick himself. She might become unhappy with what it was doing to her other relationships, and even within their own, but Elle would make sure that Dick never knew of it. The bond might make him aware of her dissatisfaction eventually, but in this, Elle would never admit.

It was an eye-opening revelation. Something about her he had only vaguely guessed at.

Dick looked down and discovered he had at some point forgotten all about his meal. It had gone cold, but he wasn't as hungry now as he had been, despite how delicious everything had been. Not when another thought struck him.

Elle was going to make a wonderful wife someday . . .

Technically, he supposed she already was a wife. Not on paper; not according to government or society, at least not society on land.

The bond was supposed to be deeper than any marital vow. Cedric and Aquaman both assured him that traditional marriage made no difference, and yet Cedric had married Elle's mother; her grandfather had married her grandmother. Why bother? Except to maybe protect their bondmates from cultural stigma and to make certain any children were protected under hereditary laws . . .

Cultural stigmas weren't as much of an issue now. People lived together all the time, but maybe not so much in Elle's family circles which were pretty much Bruce's circles, but he no longer had to wonder what Elle's grandparents and other family and friends would think about their living arrangements. He suddenly wondered what Elle's thoughts on the subject were. He had only heard her grandmother's opinion on the subject. Did she want to marry him?

They loved each other; that he knew. They lived together, whether at his place or here at Elle's, they almost always spent their free time they had with the other; not because they had to, but because they wanted to. His thoughts strayed to her several times a day when they were apart, and even during his nightly patrols as Nightwing.

She thought of him, he knew. The fact that she had prepared him dinner before she had left today proved that. He knew that his spot in her closet would have a freshly laundered and pressed police uniform waiting for him. In fact, he doubt he would find any dirty clothes here or at his place that belonged to him.

Elle was his girlfriend, but she acted like his wife. He was pretty certain that this was just Elle and not the bond making her into 'Suzy Homemaker'. He had gotten used to her ways rather quickly, in fact. It was definitely convenient and most definitely pleasant. She didn't differentiate between their apartments other than his was in one location and hers was here. She had never once made him feel as if her apartment wasn't also his.

But Dick didn't want an 'Alfred, with benefits'. When he married, he wanted the whole she-bang! Everything that Babs had been unwilling to give him as well as all that she had been willing to give . . . Only he didn't want Babs any more. That ship had sailed and sunk somewhere beyond the horizon. He couldn't even say he missed it.

But the more he thought about Elle and marriage, the more it began to gleam like a shiny coin of infinite value. He looked around her apartment. It reflected her in every picture, every stick of furniture, even the combination of scents that told him that Arabella Hamilton resided here. It looked like home. It felt like home. It smelled like home.

Dick suddenly wanted it to _be_ home; _his_ home. Elle always made him feel welcome here; warm and invited. But he didn't want an invitation anymore . . . Dick wanted it to be a right. He would figure out the Nightwing aspect of it; even if it meant keeping the other apartment indefinitely. But he would live here because Elle was here.

And Elle was home.

He cleaned up behind himself and went to change. Torn jeans and a worn-out t-shirt was fine for home, but he wanted to go find Elle. He was reminded of Tim's observation that Elle appeared to be basement bargain shopping for a boyfriend and got scammed. She didn't deserve to be embarrassed by his comfortable, homeless hobo-look.

He pulled on a better pair of dark jeans, a turtleneck, and a casual blazer. He grabbed a heavier jacket for warmth, and went to find Elle. They were moving in together permanently, and he would start the search for the perfect engagement ring tomorrow. Elle would have an answer for her grandmother before the week was out.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Look where his thoughts have turned . . . How exciting!**

**Ooh! Let's all thank Nowlive (one of my Italian readers) for her Italian translation . . . MUCH BETTER than Google Translate! Grandma no longer sounds like a poorly educated tourist! YEAH!**


	51. The Green-Eyed Monster

**Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

Dick looked past Shannon's shoulder, scowling. He had waited for her but Elle hadn't come home before it was time for her to perform, so he came to the club to see her. It was too bad that she wasn't here for him to see! He glared at the stage.

"Why is Randi up there?" he asked the hostess. "Elle's supposed to be performing tonight."

"She didn't tell you she was going to the recording studio today?" Shannon looked at him like he was a slug.

Dick turned his scowl on her. Yes, Elle did, but not that it would take all day but he didn't think that Shannon required an explanation. "No, she didn't," he lied, just to annoy her. "My work schedule hasn't given us much time to eat together, let alone talk. Why don't you fill me in?"

He knew Shannon, at least initially, liked him well enough but since that stupid three week separation, it was like she was expecting Dick to act like an asshole and disappear again. She was prepared for the next big break up and had been treating Dick accordingly when Elle wasn't latched onto his arm and acting as a buffer between them. Well, it wasn't going to happen!

"She promised Daniel Carr that she'd do his background vocals on his new CD. They've been at the recording studio all day. When it looked like it was going to extend into her show time, Elle called Randi in as a favor." Shannon shrugged.

Dick blinked. "Who the hell is Daniel Carr? That's not our waiter, is it?"

"Daniel is a singer. And no, he isn't your waiter," Shannon snarked.

"Good, because I liked _him_. I would really hate to see his car get impounded by mistake," he sniped. "So, why I haven't met this guy?"

"Like I would know that?" Shannon pushed him aside so that she could greet the next group that came in. "Hello! Welcome to Chez Donovan's! Come in and enjoy the show," Shannon said as she took their cover charge and gave them all a hand stamp.

"So . . . Elle's in . . . Gotham City?" Dick stared at her as he made the connection. Bludhaven didn't have a recording studio but Gotham City did.

Shannon turned back to him. "Yes, of course she is, at the recording studio there," she repeated the information as she would to a particularly dim-witted three year old.

"How did she manage to get there?" Dick wondered aloud.

"Daniel took her. Don't worry," Shannon grinned, evilly in Dick's opinion. "Those two are old friends. Like this," she said, holding up two fingers crossed. "I'm sure Daniel will be more than happy to give her a ride home."

Shannon shivered in reaction to the glare he gave her.

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"No," Dick snapped. "I'm not jealous!"

"Okay," Shannon quipped. "Because you were looking a little green there, you know," she traced a circle in the air in front of her eyes.

"She should have been home by now though, shouldn't she?" Dick glanced at his watch. "I mean, she was gone before I got home at three this afternoon."

Shannon gave him a look. "Do I look like I know anything about making an album? You could ask Randi but she's kind of busy. You're welcome to wait but there's a cover charge if you weren't here for dinner."

"I've never paid a cover charge before," Dick complained.

"That's because you were always here as a guest of the entertainer," Shannon smirked and made a show of looking around her. "But I don't see her anywhere."

"You," Dick narrowed his eyes and told her in a calm voice, although he was feeling anything but calm, "are a bitch."

Shannon shrugged, unconcerned. "I always thought she forgave you far too easily," she replied.

"Where's Brian?" Dick asked. There was something he wanted to ask the restaurant owner anyway. Better to do it while he was here, and Elle wasn't with him.

Shannon goggled at him. "Seriously? You're too cheap to pay the cover charge? You have to call the boss?"

"I need to ask him something," Dick growled. "Could you just send for Brian . . . Please?" Dick forced a smile through gritted teeth.

Shannon picked up the two-way radio. "It's your funeral . . ."

* * *

Brian Donovan was even more antagonistic toward Dick since their run-in at the hospital the night Elle had interrupted that mugging. He didn't stop Dick from coming to see Elle's shows or for dinner but that was more about Elle than any forgiveness he might have discovered. But maybe after he heard Dick out, Brian would be more open to finding it than he was currently.

Dick was still at the club two hours later. He had tried calling Elle's cellphone numerous times but it continued to roll his calls over to her voicemail. No one was picking up at her apartment, and in desperation, Dick had even called his own apartment. He was beginning to get more worried than annoyed. What if that singer-fellow had an accident? What if he had put the moves of her and attacked her when she had brushed him off?

What if she _hadn't_ brushed his advances off?

Now he was wishing he hadn't stayed to speak to Brian. He should have just gone to Gotham after her. It was so late, though, Dick had thought for sure that they would have missed each other in the process. So he had stayed . . . And fumed when he discovered that he still had no messages. She could have at least sent him a damned text! Why wouldn't she send him a text?

What if she _couldn't_ send him a text? What if she were lying in a ditch beside the road somewhere between Gotham and Bludhaven, bleeding out?

No, he couldn't think like that. He had known the second she had gotten into trouble with the mugger. He had felt her fear when those three men had attacked her. She wasn't hurt or in trouble . . . He tried to focus on what it was she was feeling but it apparently only worked when she was either in danger or within a certain distance. Although he remembered Cedric saying something about feeling Esmeralda from another continent, but he supposed that could have been related to their extended separation and not in general. Dick found himself wondering if the bond would develop or evolve with time . . . It was something he needed to ask Cedric at some point. Maybe he could call the man tomorrow.

He waited impatiently backstage for Randi's next break, pacing a hole in the floor. So, when she came through the curtain, Dick grabbed her arm and rushed her over to a chair. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't hand her a water bottle, though. He knew from Elle that singing for so long was hot, tiring, and thirsty work. The stage lights alone meant that the singers could become dehydrated easily.

"_Ow_! _Hey_, what's up?" Randi complained before she realized who had her. "_Dick_? What's going on?"

"Randi, Elle went to that recording studio today and still hasn't made it back!" He blurted.

Randi peeked at Dick's watch. "It must have run over. It happens a lot." She blinked at him. "Are you okay?"

Dick ran his hand through his hair again, either unaware or uncaring, that he was making it stand up at odd angles. He met her eyes and sighed.

"No," he admitted. "Not really. I don't know anything about making an album. It's normal for the process to take all day and run late into the night?"

"It's not ideal but Daniel has a deadline he has to meet for this one," Randi told him. "It was why Elle called me to take her place tonight so that they could finish it rather than reschedule for another day . . . Have you been worrying all this time about her?"

"She hasn't answered my calls or texted me once," Dick answered pitifully.

Randi smiled and chuckled. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't actually laughing at you. It's just that it's sweet that you care so much. I know that several of the people here are still ticked off at you for that misunderstanding but Elle explained things to me and she just looks so happy now, happier even than she was before. I can't fault you with that . . . And I'm _certain_ that you won't let it happen again . . . _will you_?"

"_No_. No, we have it all worked out," Dick assured her. "Things couldn't be better." He huffed and the hand swept through his dark lock in yet another pass. "Well, if she would just call me or come home, then things will be better."

Randi looked at him sympathetically. "It could run as late as three or four in the morning," she said. "I suppose we could call the studio. Maybe we could get through. Maybe someone is still manning the phones." She looked at his watch again, midnight. "If we hurry, that is. I'm scheduled back on stage in another five minutes."

"Randi, you're the best," Dick swore.

"So, I've been told by countless admirers," she laughed, waving at Dick to follow her back to the dressing room and the phone that was there.

* * *

Elle held a hand over her earphones and adjusted the mike in front of her.

"So, you want to take it again from the top," she asked.

She picked up the drumsticks and twirled them about between her fingers. She was exhausted but didn't call for a break. She wanted them to be finished so that she could go home.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," Daniel Carr thanked her yet again. "This will be my best album yet, thanks to you."

Elle laughed and waved away his comment. "You did well enough the last time," she commented.

"Even then, it was thanks to you," he told her.

"I didn't even sing on the last album!"

"You did on the one before it, though. _And_ last time you saved me a bundle on musicians," Daniel laughed. "You never told me how many instruments you can play."

Elle shrugged. "Most of them."

Daniel caught one of her hands in his, and kissed the back of it. "I still think you should marry me," he told her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Imagine the sweet music we could make."

Elle yanked her hand out of his good-naturedly. "Sorry. You're too late. I've already got a boyfriend."

He knew this about her by now. Daniel had been flirting with her on and off all day and she had repeatedly reminded him of her relationship status throughout. Elle was beginning to lose her patience with him.

"I'm talking marriage and you speak of high school crushes," he placed his hand over his heart. "I'm devastated."

"You're a Lothario," Elle countered.

"I'm a . . . What?" He asked.

"Lothario," Elle repeated. "Look it up."

"I can't look it up if I can't spell it," Daniel shrugged.

"It means you are a one-night stand kind of man. I'm a forever kind of woman." Elle murmured.

"That's the perfect way to send your boyfriend packing," Daniel smirked. "Just tell him that."

Elle smiled.

"And, in case you didn't hear me correctly, I was asking you to _marry_ me. That's hardly a one-night stand kind of question." Daniel reminded her.

"True, but you didn't mean it," Elle told him confidently.

"The hell I didn't," Daniel declared. "That is why I picked this next song for you to sing with me as a duet."

Elle blinked. "You can't be serious," she asked him incredulously. "You're joking, right?"

He handed her the music. Elle glanced down at the pages and gaped, then realized he was messing with her. "This is a Valentine's Day album. Of course you would want to include a duet! Nice joke! You almost got me there," Elle laughed.

"Would you, at least, think about it?" Daniel asked.

"Daniel, you are beginning to creep me out," Elle shook her head. "Don't spoil a good thing here with romance. I'm already in a relationship and I'm happy with it."

"You don't seem to be happy with it. You seem kind of annoyed," he noted. "Every time he is brought up, you get this frustrated look on your face."

"I'm not annoyed or frustrated at _Dick_," she declared. "I'm annoyed and frustrated at _you_ and your constant flirting!"

Daniel smirked. "His name is _dick_?"

Elle narrowed her eyes. "Daniel, grow up!"

"If he is all that, then why haven't you called him?" he asked.

Elle threw a drumstick at the man's head. He ducked but she hadn't been all that close. There were reasons why she had been one of the last chosen for the team in elementary school. Her athletic abilities were strictly limited to swimming and diving, unfortunately.

"I don't want to take tons of breaks and be here all night," she snapped. "I'm wanting to get this done and go home!"

It ticked her off even more that he had begun the session with the other musicians and background vocalists and saved most of the stuff that he needed her specifically for until last. It made for an exhausting day but more irritating was the fact that, except for Jim in the control booth, it was just her and Daniel now.

She glanced at the clock and was shocked at the time. One-thirty in the morning? Was it really that late already? _Damn it_! Now she would _need_ to take a break. Dick was probably worried sick about her but her cell was in the other room.

She stood up and set her remaining drumstick down. "I'll be back. I can't believe how late it is. I need to call Dick."

"I suppose we could finish this up in the morning. It is late," Daniel agreed. "I'll pay for you a room at the hotel where I'm staying."

Elle glared at him over her shoulder. "No, thanks. I want to go home."

"But it's too late to drive all the way back to Bludhaven and be back here in the morning by seven," Daniel complained.

Elle stopped and turned around slowly. "You promised me a ride home tonight when we finished."

"But we're not finished, are we?" Daniel smiled.

"You _knew_, didn't you," she accused him. "You _planned_ for this thing to run late. You said you were on a tight schedule. If you have the studio reserved for tomorrow morning, then we could have called it quits _hours_ ago! I could have had dinner with Dick! I wouldn't have had to call Randi in to do my show!"

"But look at how much we've accomplished," Daniel told her.

"You . . ." she shook her finger at him. "You are an asshole!"

"Ah, baby," Daniel ran to catch up to her. "Don't be like that."

He grabbed her shoulder to stop her. Elle batted his hand away angrily.

"Do _not_ touch me," she snarled at him before stomping over to where her bag was.

It was so late. She couldn't ask Dick to pick her up this late. He was probably out on patrol already, anyway. She could call a cab but she didn't have enough cash on her for a trip back to Bludhaven. That would be astronomical! This was why she needed a car of her own! Elle moved to snatch up her bag but Daniel got to it first, yanking it out of her reach.

"Are you _serious_?" She glared at him. "Do you _really_ want to go there?"

"Let me explain," he said.

She held out her hand. "Give me my bag."

"Look, Elle, I know you're mad," he began.

"You have no idea," she sniped, making a lunge for her bag.

"But if you would just listen to me!" Daniel pulled it away from her.

"I'm done. I am out of here. Do not call me again," Elle kicked him in the shin, making him drop the bag. She grabbed it and turned on her heel. Bruce would be out on patrol as Batman but Alfred should be home. Maybe she could call Alfred to pick her up?

When she heard Daniel start after her, Elle darted out into the hall.

"_Jim_," she cried out, even knowing that the sound engineer wouldn't likely hear her from the booth.

Elle didn't bother to run to the control booth with Daniel barreling down on her. She ran toward the stairs, one hand rummaging through her bag for her phone. Maybe she should just dial 911?

"Elle, stop! Wait!"

"Back off, Daniel," she warned him. "Go away and leave me alone!"

"You have nowhere to go, you know," he yelled at her.

"Anywhere is better than here with you," she retorted.

"Come on," he whined. "Don't be like this!"

Elle ignored him and went straight for the stairs. It was probably a bad idea but for all of Daniel's arrogance and manipulations, she didn't think he would actually hurt her.

"Just talk to me," Daniel burst through the door behind her.

_Damn it_!

"Why don't you ask Yolanda or Kristi? They both like you," she yelled at him, struggling to keep ahead of him without breaking her neck by falling down the stairs.

"They don't have your voice," Daniel returned immediately.

"They sing great," Elle jumped the last three steps, stumbled but kept her footing. She started down the next flight.

"That single we did three years ago when I was in Chicago? It hit the top ten for eight weeks straight, Elle," Daniel said. "Eight weeks! I've never been able to do that again."

"So sorry for you, Daniel," Elle groused. "But I wasn't in a position to do more at the time. My father didn't want me to pursue a career in music at all!"

"But your father's out of the picture now," he reminded her.

She burst through the door and into the hallway that led to the lobby area. Daniel grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"I wasn't kidding when I asked you to marry me," he told her; pushing her against the wall. "Elle, the music we could make together."

"You're delusional," she told him, ducking under his arm. She ran for the front.

Daniel grabbed her arm again but this time Elle was ready. When he swung her around, she brought up her can of mace and sprayed it in his face. Amazingly, he didn't let her go but continued to hold onto her as he swiped madly at his face with his other hand.

Elle dropped the can and punched him in the eye.

"_Ow_," she yelped; shaking her hand out. But it made Daniel let go of her.

Elle spun around to run again when Daniel lunged at her. She fell into the wall but kept her feet.

"_Damn it_! Why'd you have to do that," Daniel yelled.

He fumbled for a better grip when Elle grabbed his wrist, pivoted and yanked as she dropped down onto one knee. It wasn't picture perfect, but Daniel went where he was supposed to go which was over her shoulder and onto his back. He landed with a thud.

"_Ugh_! _What the hell_?"

Elle gave a little victory squeal as she leapt over Daniel's supine figure. She couldn't believe that actually worked! She was so going to reward Dick for his brutal self-defense lessons he had forced on her. That was awesome! She looked over her shoulder to see Daniel climbing back to his feet and stumbling in her direction. Elle yipped in surprise, turning back around . . . and ran smack into the front doors!

"_Ow_!"

The glass doors were locked! It was almost two in the morning; of course, they were locked! They now had an imprint of her face on them. The receptionist would have to clean them in the morning. Elle fumbled for the slidebolt at the top of the door but it wasn't enough. There was still the lock to contend with. She glanced behind her as Daniel gained on her.

"You can't get out," he laughed. "I have the key."

If she had the time, Elle could pick the stupid lock.

"Give me the key, Daniel and go wash your face," she told him. "You could go blind if you leave that stuff in your eyes too long."

"_What_," he yelped. "What the hell did you spray me with?"

Actually, she was lying to him. She didn't think he would go blind from the mace she sprayed him with but _he_ didn't know that. Both eyes were puffy and streaming but one was blackening and swelling more rapidly than the other.

_Hah_! _She_ had done that!

"My boyfriend is a cop," Elle told him. "Give me the key and I won't press charges."

"_Charges_? For what? You beat _me_ up!" He held a hand over his black eye. His nose was running.

Elle held up her phone.

_**SNAP! **_

"What was that sound," Daniel asked warily.

"I took a picture to remember you by," Elle told him sweetly. "If you give me the key to the doors, I won't post it on the internet."

Daniel bumped into the water cooler. He fumbled around until he could splash water onto his face. He blinked as the cool water helped to ease the burning of his eyes. He flung the snot running down his face away from him, splattering the floor, the wall, and the innocent fichus tree.

"_You bitch_! If you post that, I will sue you for . . ." Daniel stopped; blinking rapidly his swollen eyes.

"Go on," she challenged. "I'm waiting. Sue me for what exactly?"

"Nothing," he muttered; digging his hand into his pocket, he tossed her the keys none too gently.

Elle dodged the projectile and watched warily as he trudged back the way he came.

Huh? "I guess I'll just set these on the desk when I'm through," she called to him.

"Whatever," he waved a hand in the air.

Elle picked up the keys and waited until the elevator doors closed behind him and the numbers indicated he was going back up to the recording studio. Satisfied he wasn't going to sneak up on her while she unlocked the door, Elle turned around to do exactly that.

And screamed, dropping the keys in the process.

* * *

Batman stood outside of the glass doors looking all grim and dangerous. The edge of his hard mouth lifted into what Elle would describe as a smirk.

She blinked. Yes, that was most definitely a smirk! Did he know? No, they had decided to keep her knowledge a secret for a short time. He didn't know but it made Elle wonder about that smirk. She unlocked the doors and stepped back as the Dark Knight of Gotham City swept into the room all dramatic-like. Elle bit her lip to keep from grinning as she turned to drop the keys on the receptionist's desk.

That cape was _really_ cool.

"I should have figured that it wasn't me that made him retreat like that if the mace, the black eye, and being flipped hadn't done it," she remarked casually as she turned back around.

"I saw," Batman replied. "Not bad. Not good enough, obviously, but not bad."

He kind of sounded like Bruce trying to talk in a bass voice. Not bad, she thought, not good enough, obviously, but not bad. She could tell though. When she wasn't starstruck or exhausted or distracted by a gunfight and rescuing babies from a watery grave, she could tell. Then there was the chin . . . And the shoulders. Still, all in all, his costume did a lot more to hide his identity than Dick's did.

"My boyfriend is a cop. He just started showing me a few self-defense moves recently," Elle said for conversation. What did one say to her boyfriend's dad when she wasn't supposed to recognize him as a caped crime-fighter?

"I know," he said. "He called me and asked me to check on you. He should be here any minute now."

Elle's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. What was she supposed to say to _that_?

"He . . . did?"

"He did." Batman peered around her.

Elle looked over her shoulder. Nothing in the hallway. She glanced back at Batman.

"He told me you knew," Batman said.

Elle's eyes widened. "He _told_ you?"

"He said you figured him out in minutes. That the rest of us were foregone conclusions after that." Batman held the door open for her.

"You don't mind," Elle asked cautiously.

"You were going to have to be told about us regardless, at one time or another," he admitted. "You don't mind?"

Elle shrugged. "I've seen him in action a couple of times. He seems like he knows what he's doing." Actually she thought he had been amazing! "I trust him to come home alive."

The smirk was back. "Do you, now?"

"He'd better," she said with a slight hint of a threat in her voice.

"He'd better what?" A new voice entered the conversation.

Elle glanced around until Nightwing dropped down beside them. Her gaze was immediately appreciative. Man, she loved that costume! He looked fantastic in it! _Rawr_!

"Was there any trouble?" He looked over at Batman.

"Nothing she couldn't handle herself," Batman admitted.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Nightwing's head swung back to Elle. "_Hey_! My face is up here," he reminded her, pointing.

Elle jerked her eyes up guiltily. "Not my fault. You're the one with the skintight outfit that shows off all your tasty assets."

He sighed. "Did you have to say 'tasty'?"

Elle snickered. "Yes?"

"You didn't call me," Nightwing complained.

"I was working."

"You make me call you when I'm working," he retorted.

"She does?" Batman glanced at Elle again, curiously. "And you comply?"

Nightwing huffed at him. "None of your business. I'm here now," he told his former mentor. "You can go."

"My town. I'll go when I'm ready," Batman leaned back against the building.

"I can't believe you showed up like that," Elle stated, indicating his costume with a wave of her hand.

"You need to answer the question," Nightwing reminded her.

"What question?" She blinked, innocently.

"What trouble did you have to handle?"

He was too focused, Elle groused. "The kind that's been handled," she smiled.

Nightwing leaned down into her face. "Did he touch you?"

"No?"

She was a lousy liar. "I'll kill him," Nightwing growled.

"Not like that, you won't," Elle told him, grabbing his arm. "For what possible reason would Nightwing travel to Gotham City in order to defend my honor?"

He frowned at her and turned to leave.

"Hey! Where're you going now," Elle yelped.

"To change clothes," Nightwing grumbled.

"Don't be ridiculous! He just asked me to marry him . . ." Elle blurted.

Nightwing spun around again. "He _what_? And what exactly did you tell him?"

Elle gaped at him, incredulous. Was he serious? "What do you think I told him?" When Nightwing continued to stare at her, she snarked. "I told him that I was free this weekend."

Nightwing's sense of humor was missing, however, and he reached for the door to the building, his costume be damned . . .

Elle grabbed his arm again. "_Stop_! Would you just stop a minute? I told him no, of course! I can't believe you would even ask me what I said to that!"

Batman stepped away from the building. "If this little lover's spat is going to continue, perhaps it should do so in private. It's late, so I had Agent A prepare rooms." Batman shot a grapple into a nearby building and flew up and out of sight in mere seconds.

Elle whistled. "That is so impressive. I'd love to do that some time."

Nightwing slid an arm around her waist. "No time like the present," he said.

Elle pushed against his chest. "Not until you admit you were jealous."

Nightwing scoffed. "Jealous? What makes you think that?"

Elle swirled a finger in front of her eyes. "Because I had been under the impression that you had blue eyes but, right now, they are a distinct shade of green." Well, actually they were the opaque white lenses, but he knew to what she was referring.

He frowned down at her. "You know, you are the second person that's told me that this evening."

"Thank you for coming after me," she whispered to him. "You never have to be jealous of me, you know."

"And I'll _always_ come for you," he promised.

Smiling now, he glanced around. The street was deserted. Dipping his head, Nightwing kissed her quickly. Then, before she could regain her wits, he shot a grapple toward a building in the direction he had left his bike and they flew up into the air.

Elle's delighted laughter echoed for several long seconds after the two had disappeared from view.

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**I have to admit, I really loved writing this one. **


	52. Elle and The Bat Cave

**Warning: Language and Laughter . . .**

* * *

"What's with you and coats?" Nightwing complained. Elle had forgotten her coat at the recording studio in her angry haste to leave, and neither of them wanted to go back for it.

They were traveling out of Gotham in the direction of the Manor at high speed. Elle wore a leather jacket that Nightwing had stored in one of the cycle's storage compartments and his helmet that was decorated with his symbol. She had her arms wrapped around his waist in a death grip. Not that he minded. He liked feeling her clinging to him.

Elle didn't answer him. This was her first time on a motorcycle and he understood she was too nervous to enjoy it. Maybe if this was a summer day and they were cruising backroads in the country. As it was, he was traveling an ill-used, curving backroad in inclement weather in the middle of the night at seventy miles an hour. He could feel her breath hitch whenever he leaned into one of the many turns and curves.

He felt Elle's head jerk up as they left the road.

"Wait," she yelped. "Where did the road go?"

"Short cut," he reassured her. "The Batmobile has a hidden road Batman uses another half a mile or so. I thought I'd cut a few minutes off the ride by taking the path."

"What path?" Elle was happy for the helmet a second later when the tip of a passing branch whipped across the visor. "_Yowza_! That was close!"

Her grip slackened as she startled. Nightwing let go of the bike with one hand to grab one of hers until she could tighten her hold on him once more.

"Keep your head down," Nightwing instructed.

Several minutes more passed of being slapped by bushes and branches until that all gave way to a stretch of a deserted, single lane road. Nightwing turned onto this, and Elle felt safe to put her head up and peek around his shoulder. Yawning blackness loomed ahead. She gasped when they entered the cave still traveling way too fast for comfort. Several yards in, lights suddenly came on. They followed a paved path that was barely wide enough for a car; long strips of indirect lighting illuminating the way.

"Where are we?" Elle yelled at him.

"This is the entrance to the Bat Cave," he told her.

"Bat cave?"

"Where else would you hide a bat?" He laughed.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Why would I kid you about that?"

Elle shifted her hands carefully. She didn't really want to distract him in here. "It's just that I thought that was part of the myth."

"Myth?" He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"_Ack_! _Oh my God, turn around_! Watch where you're going! Don't look at me," Elle yelped.

Nightwing laughed. "I've driven this thing for years. I could ride my bike in backwards and blindfolded, and not have a problem."

"I'll take your word for it," she told him. "No need to prove anything."

Nightwing shook his head, amused by her nervousness. "I thought you trusted me! You let me fly you around the city!"

"That was swinging up to a rooftop a couple of times," she explained. "And we weren't going eighty miles an hour then, either."

"We're not going eighty miles an hour now either. We're barely going forty."

"Forty miles an hour inside of a freaking straw that's make out of rock," she retorted. "It's not even a straight straw," she whined as the road dipped suddenly and then curved at Elle swore was a ninety degree turn. She pressed her helmeted head against his back.

"Just answer the question," he said. "It'll distract you."

"What question," she muttered.

"Explain what you meant by myth."

"That's not a question," Elle said.

Nightwing laughed. "It was the first time I asked it. Just tell me what you meant."

"I thought Batman had a normal hideout. I didn't expect his secret lair to actually be in a _cave_. Does anyone actually believe Batman's base of operations is in a real cave? Of course not! They think it is in his mother's basement, like all the other crazy people!"

Nightwing slowed the bike down to a more reasonable speed as he burst out laughing. "I guess, in a way, that would be right. Oh man, I can't wait to tell Bruce you said that!"

Elle let go with one hand long enough to slap at his shoulder. "You can't tell Bruce I said that!"

"Why the hell not?"

"It might hurt his feelings," she explained.

"Batman doesn't have feelings other than impatience and anger." Nightwing told her with a smile.

"That's not true," she scoffed. "He smirked at me when he scared me into dropping the key to the door of the recording studio."

"Probably a good reason you shouldn't hang out with Batman, then."

"What? Why do you say that?"

Nightwing shrugged and she clenched her hands tighter around his waist with a yip. "Because you would definitely ruin his reputation for being a badass," he yelled back at her.

The cave opened up at that point into a mammoth cavern, and anything Elle might have said was lost in her awe.

"Oh . . . My God," she said barely loud enough to be heard over the purring of the bike.

Nightwing pulled to a stop and waited patiently for Elle to get over her shock and climb off of the bike. It took a while.

"This is . . . This is amazing," Elle whispered; taking in the sights from their centralized location.

One could see most of the cave from here. The medical bay; the changing area; the training area; and the stairs leading up to the Manor weren't visible from here. But she could see the Bat computer, the long list of Bat-vehicles, including the Batplane and the Batboat, and the display and trophy cases . . . Elle gasped. Nightwing smiled.

And the trophies that were too large to fit into any case.

"Is that a _dinosaur_? That _is_ a dinosaur! Why does he have a freaking dinosaur in his Batcave?" She gaped as she took off the helmet.

She almost lost her balance attempting to climb off of the bike while still staring at the sights around her. Nightwing grabbed her arm to help steady her, but Elle didn't seem to even notice as she handed him back his helmet and turned in a circle a full three hundred and sixty degrees.

"This is . . . Amazing," she gasped.

"You said that," he told her, amused by her reaction.

"It's worth repeating," she said, and then gasped again, her eyes widening.

Nightwing looked around, trying to figure out what had caught her awestruck attention now, but she didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.

"What it is?"

She swung around to face him with a huge grin and excitement lighting her face. She waved a hand in the air as she spoke.

"The acoustics in here are fantastic," she exclaimed loudly, and then laughed in delight at the echo.

Nightwing laughed and pulled her into his arms. Leave it to Elle to be more impressed with the acoustics of the cave than its components. "Well, I think you're pretty darn fantastic yourself," he kissed her nose.

"You missed," she smirked at him.

"I didn't want to embarrass the bats." He smiled back at her.

"Mm," she hummed appreciatively. "What bats?"

A growl resounded throughout the cave, causing Elle to swing around in his arms. The sound grew louder until a huge, black car entered the cave along the same path they had taken in. It pulled up in the center of the round parking turnstile, and the door swung open as Batman emerged.

His gaze immediately centered on Elle. Batman wasn't above wanting to hear a little praise for his achievement in engineering, apparently.

Elle gaped at him a moment, and then frowned at Nightwing. She punched him in the arm.

"_Ow_! What the hell," he yelped as he rubbed his arm dramatically. "Why'd you do that?"

Elle pointed at the Batmobile! "_A car_? You made me ride on the back of that death machine when he had a _car_?"

Nightwing laughed, and sure enough, Batman smirked.

Batman slid across the hood of the car in a move that caused his cape to swirl out with a dramatic flair. Elle clapped her hands together in delighted appreciation, and Nightwing gasped for air around his laughter.

_Bruce is actually showing off for her_? Nightwing placed a hand over his aching ribs.

Unintimidated by the Bat, Elle practically launched herself at him, and was checking out his cape. "This is so cool," she gushed. She looked back at Nightwing over her shoulder. "Why don't you have a cape?"

Bruce pushed the cowl off of his head at that point, and grinned at him; actually grinned. "Yeah, why don't you have a cape?"

Nightwing's laughter finally died out. "Cramps my awesome fighting style," he retorted, smugly.

Bruce held out an arm to Elle in a gentlemanly fashion. "He _used_ to wear a cape," he told her. "It didn't cramp his style back then. In fact, you should see firsthand what Nightwing's style used to be like when he was Robin."

Dick was carefully peeling off his mask. "_What_? Oh, man, don't do that!"

"But I _want_ to see it," Elle said.

"Just keep in mind that I was only nine years old and fresh out of the circus when I designed it." He called after them.

* * *

Elle's eyes widened as she came face to face with a tiny costume with scaly, green panties and pixie boots and a bright yellow cape. She laughed and then slowly her laughter fell away as she contemplated anew how small Dick was when he first donned the cape and mask.

"He was so little," she mused.

"He had ten feet worth of talent and determination crammed into that tiny costume," came Bruce's reply.

"Determination," she asked, not looking away from the colorful outfit.

"He insisted. Refused to take no for an answer."

She glanced up at the man beside her. Bruce's face was an odd mix of emotions, until he realized she was staring at him, and then the emotions melted away as if they never were. But Elle had seen them. He felt them, even if he didn't like people to recognize them.

"You didn't _want_ him to become Robin," she said in a moment of insight.

"No. I wanted him to have a childhood; to feel safe and cared for . . . To be happy. But his sense of justice is as deep and persistent as mine. It was either train him or prepare myself to eventually mourn him."

Elle was silent for a moment, and then a mischievous smirk appeared.

"So, whose idea was it for the hot pants and the elf boots?"

Bruce laughed. "That was all Dick's idea!"

"I can't believe you let him out of the cave in that," she snickered.

"Hey! I heard that," Dick said from across the cave. He was walking out of an alcove that Elle hadn't noticed before wearing street clothes.

"I can see that you aren't to be trusted to go shopping by yourself," Elle quipped.

"I've improved over the years," he pouted, walking over to join them.

"I'll say you have," she grinned and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his chin.

He grinned down at her. "You missed."

"It was on purpose," she told him. "I didn't want to embarrass the bat," she said in a stage whisper as they turned around. "So, would someone like to explain the dinosaur to me now?"

"You're handling the Batcave very well for your first time here," Bruce remarked.

Elle shrugged. "Well, it's not like there are really bats in here, after all." In fact, she had yet to see even one. "And it's actually not all that creepy for a cave."

"There _are_ bats," Dick told her. "They stay further back into the cave, however. The lights and sounds in this area tend to bother them. They seldom linger here for long."

Elle looked thoughtful for a moment. "The bats use echolocation, don't they?"

Bruce answered her. "Yes."

"Did you know that Dolphins and certain whales use echolocation as well," she murmured.

Dick looked at her curiously. "Your point?"

Elle grinned. "I just want to try something."

"What's that," Bruce asked.

"Something I used to do with the dolphins off of the coast of Italy when we would go swimming or diving." Elle said.

Dick and Bruce exchanged glances over her head. Both were puzzled.

"Do you mind if I try it," Elle asked Bruce.

"I don't suppose it could hurt anything," he said.

"What are you going to do?" Dick was a little more cautious.

Elle started singing the scale; moving up octave after octave. Bruce and Dick looked surprised. Her range was astounding. Then suddenly there was silence, but Elle still looked as if she were singing. Then came a mad rush of beating wings as the bats swarmed the cave. To say the men were startled would be an understatement, but none were more startled than Elle herself when the bats swirled and swarmed around her. Her silent singing stopped because this wasn't _anything_ like playing with the dolphins!

Dick and Bruce ducked under the onslaught, but Elle shrieked and flapped her arms about her. _They were in her hair_! In only a couple of minutes, the bats retreated with the exception of the one that had tangled itself in her hair. Dick and Bruce rushed to her rescue!

"_Ew_! Yuck! Get it out," she shrieked. "They are not nearly as fun as dolphins!"

* * *

Dick had to bite his lip not to laugh as he struggled to hold the bat so that it couldn't bite him as Bruce untangled Elle's hair from its wings and little clawed toes. She would never forgive him for laughing outright at her. It was also mildly reminiscent of their experience with Mook, and Dick began praying that she wouldn't suddenly decide that she wanted to keep the bat as a pet now, too.

"Okay," he said as Bruce pulled the last few strands of glossy brown hair free. "It's okay now. It's out!"

"Wait, don't hurt it," Elle gasped. She felt sympathetic toward the creature now that it wasn't clawing its way about her head. After all, she was the one that disturbed it first. "Before you let it go, I want to see it."

She turned and stared at the little creature; studying its face and ears.

"Hm," she hummed to herself; wrinkling her nose in thought, and Dick found he was curious as to what those thoughts were going through her mind. "Okay, you can let it go now."

He did, and they watched it fly away; desperate to get back to its family further back into the cave.

Elle drew in a deep breath and blew it out again in an attempt to steady her frazzled nerves after the night she had had.

"Okay. Alright, then." she took another calming breath, and turned to face the two men. "Now, would someone, _please_ . . . _Finally_, tell me what's up with that damned dinosaur?!"

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**Only Elle, right? **


	53. Skinny Dipping

**Warning: Some Suggestive Material Ahead . . .**

* * *

Elle followed Dick up the stairs and was surprised when they came out from behind the grandfather clock in Bruce's study. She gaped as Dick slid the antique piece silently back into place.

"That is awesome," she grinned.

Of course, a huge mansion like this one was bound to have a secret passage or two! If Bruce hadn't, she would have told him to give her his money because he wasn't spending it right. But there was the best secret room of all behind that clock, and Elle was impressed in spite of herself.

"We should let Alfred know we are here. He's probably in the kitchen," Dick said, taking her hand to lead her out.

"Wait," she requested.

Dick looked back at her in surprise, but Elle tugged him into a different direction.

"Today's been exhausting, and with everything that's happened, I'm just too hyped up to sleep right away," Elle explained. "Do you think that the pool has been finished yet?"

It took him a second, but Dick smiled. "Yes, that's right! He mentioned it. You father's company was extremely efficient. It was done in a day!"

Elle's excitement was contagious.

Dick remembered how impressive she had been even swimming in a chlorinated pool. He wondered how much more so she would be in something that didn't cause her to shed blistered skin?

"We'll need bathing suits," he reminded her.

Elle smirked. "It's almost two-thirty in the morning. No, we don't."

His eyes widened and he followed meekly in her wake.

The smell was different. Her lungs didn't burn as they entered the pool room; her eyes didn't water. Elle grinned and gripped her sweater, tugging it over her head and tossing it on one of the chairs. Dick flicked on the lights that illuminated the pool, giving the water a greenish cast and it looked incredibly inviting. Her shoes went next, followed by her slacks. She left on her periwinkle-blue bra and panty set.

She glanced back at Dick who was standing with his mouth agape and his t-shirt halfway off. She placed two fingers under his chin and closed his mouth for him.

"Are you coming?"

"I just might," he stammered.

Elle laughed.

"Blue is my new favorite color," he announced.

She walked backwards to the pools edge. "It's called periwinkle, and blue has always been your favorite color," she retorted.

"Not periwinkle blue," he clarified, quickly shucking his clothes. "But it is now."

He left his briefs on, just in case. Alfred didn't go to bed until Bruce was back for the night, and he might come looking for them since being given the heads up that they were going to spend the night. Not that Alfred hadn't seen him naked, but it had been a while since the time he had broken both his arm and leg and needed help bathing. At fourteen, that had been a humiliating eight weeks for him. Having Alfred seeing her naked was an experience that he didn't think Elle would appreciate sharing with him.

He ran to catch up to her, and Elle laughed, spun on her heel and dove into the shallow water. Dick stumbled to a halt. His jaw dropped once more.

_My God_, he thought. _She is magnificent_!

Elle made it across the length of the pool in record time. He knew he would never be able to keep up with her in a race. To imagine he could was laughable. As he watched, Elle flipped over beneath the water and sped back to him. As she broke the surface, joy seemed to permeate her entire being.

"You did that without having to take a breath," he managed to say. He impressed himself. He had been certain that he had been rendered speechless.

"Why would I take a breath," she asked, puzzled. "I was only under for a minute."

"The exertion alone should have required it, if nothing else," Dick told her. "I couldn't have held my breath while doing it."

"What exertion," Elle asked, allowing herself to float; luxuriating in the feel of the water caressing her body. She had missed this.

"The effort it took to swim the length of a fifty meter pool and back in a minute's time."

Elle opened her eyes and smiled. "Dick, I wasn't racing. I was just playing around."

"Just how fast are you?"

Elle grinned and set her feet down. "You have a stop watch nearby?"

Dick picked up his watch from the top of his pile of clothes. "I have one right here. Are you going to get out and dive in?"

Elle stood in the water by the side of the pool. "I'm good here," she said, putting one foot on the wall to push off with.

Dick raised an eyebrow and set his watch. "Okay," he said, hesitantly. "On your mark, get set, GO!"

Elle shoved off the side and immediately went underwater. Dick forgot the watch as he stared, stunned at her speed. She suddenly popped back up at her starting position seconds later.

"So," she asked, shoving her hair back. "How'd I do?"

Dick started, and glanced down at the watch. He hit stop belatedly and gaped at the time. Twelve point twenty-two seconds. But that included the time it took him to get his head back in the game and stop the timer. Elle was faster than that.

"I was . . . I kind of forgot to hit stop," he admitted sheepishly. "Want to go again or are you too tired?"

She didn't appear tired. Her eyes were sparkling in the pool lights.

"Will you remember to hit stop this time," she teased.

"Uh . . . Yeah, I'll remember this time," he promised.

She moved back into her previous starting position.

"On your mark, get set, and Go!"

She was off like a shot, and Dick held up the timer. He hit stop as soon as she slapped the side of the pool. He shook his head in disbelief despite the proof in his hands.

"Nine point nine seconds! That's incredible! That's almost equal to the world record for the hundred meter sprint! You swim as fast as a man can run!" Dick sputtered.

"I'd bet Flash wouldn't be as impressed," she laughed.

He sat down on the side of the pool and dangled his feet in the water. "So how long can you hold your breath?"

"Underwater or on land?"

Dick blinked. "Is there a difference?"

"Yeah, but I don't completely understand all the ins and outs of it." Elle shrugged and looked over her shoulder at the diving boards. "Hey, want to dive with me?"

"Sure," he said, scrambling to his feet.

Elle swam back across the pool and was pulling herself out of the water before Dick had made it halfway around.

"Come on, slowpoke," she taunted him.

She grabbed the ladder of the tallest diving board, which was about five meters, higher than the normal three meter springboard used in competition, and started up. Dick paused at the bottom, wanting to actually watch her dive. Elle walked a couple of steps and then three bounding leaps, and jumped. She twisted twice and then bent her body into a perfect pike position as she completed two somersaults only to straighten in time to enter the water smoothly. There had hardly been a splash.

Dick blinked. This was the same woman who sprained her ankle tubing and ran her face into a glass door just last night! She was a strange contradiction, he thought. Able to be the epitome of grace and poise on a stage or a diving board and then trip over her own feet walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. One thing of which he was absolutely certain . . . She would _never_ bore him!

He watched as she streaked through the water and swam down, down, down to the very bottom of the pool. She touched the bottom and turned her body; settling into a cross-legged position in the deepest part of the pool. She wasn't coming up! Dick hesitated, wanting to run back and grab his watch, and wanting to dive in after her. Instead he slid into the water from the side. He held his nose to equalize air pressure in his ears and then began to dive down after her. He continued to equalize the pressure every meter or so to prevent ear pain.

As he approached her, Elle smiled at him and grabbed his hands, pulling him down next to her. As Dick approached his three minute mark, he pointed upward. Elle leaned forward and mimed blowing out his air. Dick frowned and shook his head at her. Elle smiled and repeated the motion.

He was going to have to go soon if he didn't want to run out of oxygen on the way up. Blacking out a mere two feet from the surface would be embarrassing. He pointed up and started to rise. Elle gripped his hands and pulled him back down. She seemed a little stronger in the water than on land, he noticed, and wondered if it were related to her Atlantian heritage. He pointed upward more vigorously. He was getting into a dangerous position remaining here.

Elle mimed blowing out his air. She smiled and place her hand over her heart and then over his. He must be out of his mind. She must be out of hers. She was asking him to trust her, he knew. She was very aware that if he died, she would die with him. She hadn't seemed suicidal.

He blew out his air in a rush of bubbles.

Elle leaned toward him and paused a few inches from his face. She slowly blew out some of her own precious air into a growing bubble between them. She tugged his face in as she created this little pocket of air. As his lips met the bubble, Dick sucked in the air instinctively until his lungs were filled. His mind seemed to clear immediately, telling him that he had been feeling the first effects of oxygen deprivation.

He stared at Elle, worried now that she had given up her precious oxygen. She continued to smile at him unconcerned.

How long had they both been down here? Elle had been in the water at least two minutes longer than he had, and he had long since passed his own three minute mark. As he began to feel the slightest lightheadedness, he pointed upward again. Elle mimed blowing out his air again. Dick's eyes widened and shook his head, pointing at her and then to the surface.

She placed her hand over his heart and after the slightest hesitation, Dick blew out the air that Elle had fed him. She leaned forward and blew another air bubble. He frowned, surprised. How did she have anything left to share? Unwilling to waste it, in case he needed to rescue her should she pass out, he leaned in and repeated the action of sucking the air into his lungs. Again his head cleared. He started to pull her up so they could surface together, but Elle tugged him back down to her.

Suddenly he seemed to understand. Somehow Elle could breathe underwater and she was feeding him her excess oxygen. He waved her hair away from her neck, fully expecting to find gills where there had previously been none. Perhaps they showed up much like the webbing between her fingers did when she got wet? But his gaze met smooth skin.

How was she doing this?

The next time he needed fresh air, he merely released what he had. At the presence of the escaping bubbles, Elle leaned in again. This time instead of blowing a bubble for him to breathe from; she met his lips with hers and blew the air directly into his mouth. She didn't pull away, however, but remained pressed into the life-giving kiss. When she continued to give him air when his lungs were full, he released some through his nose, and repeated the process of accepting more air from her through the kiss.

This was amazing!

After a short awkward stage, Dick was breathing almost normally as if he were scuba diving. It was then that the kiss changed from mere oxygen sharing to passionate. Elle's hands moved to unhook her pretty periwinkle bra; tossing it aside a minute later. Her hands slid from her breasts over her stomach and to her matching panties. They separated briefly as Dick followed her lead and removed his own boxer-briefs. She grabbed his face and pressed her mouth to his. His hands slid around her body as Dick pulled her in to straddle his.

It was another first for him . . . Making love underwater as his lover breathed for him. It was transcendent and surreal; the water caressing him with every move they made. He lost his air when his climax came, but Elle was right there for him.

* * *

Later, when they surfaced, Dick was laughing breathlessly at Elle's frustration. They had brought up her bra and his briefs, but they couldn't find Elle's underwear anywhere!

"It's not funny, Dick," She pouted at him.

"I'm not laughing at you," he told her. "I'm laughing with you."

She stopped and turned around. Her luxurious, dark tresses were plastered over her breasts as if preserving her modesty. For the first time, Dick saw the Atlantian in her. She looked exactly how he imagined a beautiful Siren might look as she seduced unwitting sailors to their doom. He knew he wouldn't be immune to her lure either. She wouldn't have to sing a note to have him follow her willingly into the deep.

"Do I look like I'm laughing to you?"

"It'll turn up eventually," he promised. "I'm pretty sure there isn't an interdimensional portal hidden in the bottom of our pool."

Although the idea of someone on the other side of such a portal scratching his head in confusion at the sudden, unexplained appearance of Elle's periwinkle underwear had his lips twitching in amusement.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Elle groused and then paused with a curious look on her face. "An interdimensional what?"

"Never mind," he said, and asked the question that had been on his mind since she had first blown him that air bubble. "How did you know how to do that? The air bubble and breathing underwater, I mean. You don't have gills, and yet you repeatedly replaced my air as well as your own. I thought you could only hold your breath."

"I've been chatting a little with Arthur Curry," she admitted.

That surprised him, although it shouldn't have. "Really? And he told you how to do this?"

Elle shrugged. "Sort of. He explained that Sirens don't actually have gills like most other Atlantians. They are able to absorb oxygen directly through their skin. He thought I should be able to do it also based on the fact I can hold my breath for five minutes and surface without a difficulty. He said, I wasn't actually holding my breath per say. That I just didn't need to inhale and exhale to breathe.

Dick wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. He kissed her thoroughly in a way that his previous need for air had prevented while they had been underwater. Out of the water, however, both of them became breathless in a few short minutes. Elle's pupils were wide and she looked dazed. He wanted to take advantage of her arousal once more, but he had caught a glimpse of the time when he had picked up his watch; it was 4:45 in the morning. Bruce would be coming through the clock at any moment.

He would save it for later, he decided, picking up Elle's clothes and handing them to her; after they reached the privacy of his room. He felt bad that Alfred had taken the trouble of making up both rooms, but he refused to pass up an opportunity to share a bed with the woman he wanted to marry.

He smiled at the thought and glanced over at his bondmate and, if all went according to his plans, his eventual wife. She was dressing; completely oblivious to the thoughts currently running through his mind. Elle had no idea what he had in store for her.

* * *

Bruce toweled his hair dry and stopped by the Bat-computer. Pulling up the security feed, he doubled checked the house before retiring. It was more habit that necessity, but the routine made it easier for him to fall asleep.

Views of all the public rooms and halls flashed across the screen. Lights in the pool room caught his eye and he stopped; bringing up the security feed to the room.

Curious and a little concerned, he changed the view to another angle.

There! A shadow in the deepest part of the pool! He zoomed in and as the focus adjusted, Bruce was able to make out something small floating in the water. After a moment, he was able to recognize what it was he was looking at.

Bruce swung by the pool on his way up to his room. Breakfast tomorrow, he decided with a grin, should be a far more interesting affair than usual.

* * *

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**Never a dull moment . . . ;D**


	54. Morning Comes Too Early

**Some small changes in POV, but most all of the chapter is Elle's point of view. In one case, I'll give you a brief glimpse into Bruce's head, but without a separation, the chapter will switch back to Elle's. Other than that, it should be easy enough to figure out whose view you're seeing.**

**Elle's workout outfit she borrowed from Tim, and consisted of one of Tim's too-small t-shirts and a pair of biking shorts .**

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

It was the weirdest breakfast she had ever had. Throughout the meal, there was some kind of secret conversation going on between Dick and Bruce. Unfortunately, she was on the outs of this, being totally unaware of the meaning of all the code words they were using. Words like 'pool' and 'enjoy' and terms like 'forget something?' . . .

Elle could only blame her lack of sleep on her complete and utter incomprehension of the conversation going on around her, but somewhere along the line, it suddenly clicked. She gasped . . .

And promptly choked on her eggs.

Dick pounded on her back unhelpfully. If she survived the eggs, she would be black and blue. Elle grabbed the juice and started chugging; coughed once violently in the middle of it and had to use her napkin to wipe the orange pulp from her nose and eyelashes.

Lord, she was so tired . . . so tired of looking like a putz in front of Dick's family. Damian stared at her, concerned. Such a sweet child, she thought, at least when he wasn't, you know, assassinating people! Oh, but Dick said they had been working on that, so maybe Damian hadn't murdered anyone recently. She wasn't ready to share with the rest of the family yet about her knowledge of them. Bruce knew, but she really didn't want anyone else to find out.

Damian excused himself to finish getting ready for school. Alfred came over to begin clearing the remnants of his breakfast away while Elle busied herself with her blueberry muffin. She discovered if she kept her mouth full, no one would ask her questions. She continued eating, but with a tad bit more caution.

Her only comfort was that Dick's face was as red as hers.

Alfred offered her some fresh coffee.

"Will you be using the Batcave's training area or would you prefer to use the 'upstairs' gymnasium, Master Dick?" Alfred asked smoothly.

Coffee sloshed from Elle's cup, and she set it down quickly.

"Did you burn yourself, Miss?" "Are you okay, Elle?" and "You didn't get that on you, did you?" All the words of concern had her wishing to sink into the floor and disappear.

She shoved her coffee-drenched hand into her lap and waved her unburned hand in the air in an attempt to remain casual. "Oh yes, sure; sure . . ." To which question she was referring, Elle left it up to the one asking the question. "If you'll excuse me now."

* * *

Despite the overwhelming urge to run, Elle exited the kitchen calmly. She only increased her speed slightly as she went up the stairs. She might have ran down the hall to Dick's room, but Elle saw Damian coming out of his room, so she continued walking as if she didn't have a third degree burn on her hand.

"You have a good day in school, Damian," she wished him.

"I wish I could remain and help Grayson and Father train you," he remarked sincerely.

Elle smiled weakly. Did everyone know of her incompetence? "I'm sure I won't be an expert before school's out. You'll have plenty of time to show me how to not die the next time."

He looked at her funny.

"Is that the extent of your ambition, Hamilton? To not die?"

"I kind of thought it was a worthy ambition as far as that goes," Elle shrugged. "I'd really prefer to not die if it can be helped."

"You do not want to know how to defeat your enemy?" Damian shifted his backpack to his other shoulder.

Elle frowned. "Your brother said that defeating him wasn't the goal."

"If that is not the goal, then what is?"

"Um," Elle hesitated, very aware that the little boy in front of her was capable of kicking major ass. "To get away so that I can run to safety or find help?"

She wasn't sure why she blushed at Damian's obvious disappointment in her answer, but she stammered out a hasty goodbye, and retreated to Dick's room quickly to run water over her stinging hand. It wasn't actually much of a burn. In truth, it was only slightly reddened. In an hour she might not even notice it.

* * *

"Have a good day, Dami," Dick said as he met the boy at the bottom of the stairs.

Damian frowned at him. "You are not doing Hamilton any favors by only teaching her self-defense," he said in lieu of greeting. "You should be teaching her offense as well."

"Damian, Elle isn't planning on becoming a vigilante, you know. And I would rather her not challenge her attacker, but escape him. It is less likely that she will get hurt that way," Dick explained.

"You're leaving her helpless," the boy accused him, angrily. "Even Gordon can fight and she's confined to a wheelchair!"

"Babs spent years as Batgirl, though. Her training didn't desert her when she lost the use of her legs. She merely adjusted and compensated for her loss." He told him. "Elle doesn't have the same background, temperament, or skills that Babs has. But I assure you that I am not going to leave her helpless."

"She needs more than the mere basics, Grayson. She lives in Bludhaven."

"She won't need more than that because she won't be facing off against criminals like the Joker. And I plan to be there when she needs me. I'll protect her. And you should get going before you're late." Dick sighed.

"You can't be with her all the time, Grayson," Damian muttered as he exited the Manor to meet Alfred out front in the car.

Dick stared after him. Damian had a point. He couldn't always be with Elle. But Elle was not a fighter. He would teach her to defend herself, but she wouldn't be able to stand up to the likes of dangerous criminals. She didn't have the speed and reflexes out of the water to be an effective fighter. But he wouldn't leave her helpless either.

Dick ran lightly up the stairs. He would coax Elle down to the gym. Bruce had canceled his morning to help train her. Between the two of them, they could be certain that, even if Elle was never a fighter, neither would she be a victim.

* * *

Bruce watched critically while Dick ran Elle through what she already knew. It wasn't much; just the basics really, but he had only been doing this for a couple of weeks. It had been helpful to her thus far, as last night proved, but would it have been enough had the Batman not shown up? That Carr fellow hadn't appeared ready to give up despite that shot in the face with mace.

"Damian is right, you know," he commented when they stopped for a short break. "You're going to need to teach her some offense. She did manage to punch Carr in the eye, but he hadn't been put off by anything that she had done."

Elle collapsed onto the mat, groaning. "I don't understand it," she muttered disgustedly, draping her arm over her eyes. "He just wouldn't take no for an answer!"

"It seems that while most can resist your charms reasonably well, but there are a few that are more susceptible to it," Bruce remarked.

Elle laughed. "My charms? Daniel wasn't interested in my charms. He wanted to form a permanent partnership in which his career would benefit from my voice," she said, ending bitterly. "All he could talk about was the music. 'We'll make beautiful music together,' yada, yada, yada; blah, blah, blah."

Dick frowned. "That's also a euphemism for sex, as well."

She lifted the arm she had over her face and rolled her head to look at him from her position on the mat. "I know the difference, Dick. He isn't in love with me; just with my voice."

"While I am grateful that is the case, I will never understand it," Dick told her. "Who couldn't help but love you?"

Elle grinned at him. "You're sweet, but deluded. I know many, many people who don't even like me." Her smile wilted a bit. "And one who quite literally hates me," she muttered under her breath.

"Those people are nuts, though," Dick defended her; not hearing her last remark. "Come on," he called to her. "Get up, lazybones."

She groaned. "Slave driver! It's too early for this," she complained loudly as she rolled onto her knees.

Dick laughed as he helped her to her feet.

"I _baby_ you," he declared, pointing to Bruce. "_He's_ the one you're going to have to worry about."

Elle sent Bruce a look of trepidation. The look he returned did nothing to ease her apprehension.

"Although there are several things we will be showing you," Bruce began. "The first thing we need to do is work up an exercise program to increase your stamina."

Elle gaped at him. "I am _not_ out of shape!" She paused. "Okay, by much," she admitted grudgingly. "But in my defense, I could swim five miles and not be out of breath."

"That's in the water," Bruce pointed out. "You won't find much water in the streets of Bludhaven. You need to increase your stamina on land."

She slumped. "But on land is so much harder," she whined.

"Save your breath," Dick warned. "You're going to need it."

* * *

An hour later, Elle resembled nothing more than a lump of flesh where she lay on the mat. Bruce had worked her until she had collapsed into heap. Dick squat next to her, trying to coax her up.

"Go away," she mumbled at him.

"It's only hard now," he promised. "In a week, this will be so much easier."

She opened one eye and glared at him. "Go. Away."

"Elle, that was only the warm up. It's time to show you a few more self-defense moves," Dick poked her in the shoulder; giving her a shake.

She groaned, but didn't move. "You aren't motivating me, you know," she informed him.

"You want motivation?" He rubbed a hand over his chin. "Marshmallows? Hot chocolate?

"You just want to throw me down on the mat again," she snarked.

"Butter on your popcorn and a movie madness marathon?" He added.

Elle sighed heavily, but held up her hand. Dick grinned and pulled her to her feet.

"That's the spirit," he said, cheerfully.

Elle growled, but prepared herself for more abuse. At least she didn't have to sing tonight. Just the effort of holding the mike and standing upright seemed to be beyond her at the moment. She reminded herself that Dick admired strong women, and while there was no way in hell she would ever don a pair of spandex leotards and a mask for anything other than a Halloween party, she did want him to be proud of her in general. Elle knew that he was only doing this because he wanted her to be safe.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow at Dick's choice of motivation. "Sugar and cholesterol is your prime motivation? It is little wonder you haven't the energy to make it through a workout."

Elle turned and glared daggers at him. "Hey! I can eat what I want and require little in the way of exercise to fit into my clothes. Do not criticize my one true joy in life!"

"Do Atlantians even get high cholesterol," Dick mused. "Another question for Arthur Curry."

"I'm more Italian than Atlantian," she informed them. "Italians love to eat."

"Marshmallows and buttery popcorn?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "That's different. This is snack food, or manna from heaven . . . Same thing."

"Do _you_ eat like this," Bruce asked Dick.

Elle snorted. "_His_ eating habits are far worse than mine."

"Elle's a great cook." Dick patted his flat, rippled stomach. "I'll probably have to add a few more reps to my workouts as a result; maybe an extra mile to my runs."

Elle blinked at him in dismay. "You never complained about my cooking before."

"Who's complaining?" Dick grinned. "I haven't eaten so well since I moved out of the manor."

"Hmph," Elle grunted, but was secretly mollified. "Okay, let's get this over with. What do you want to show me?"

* * *

Another hour was spent going over a few simple offensive moves. An eye jab is effective in blinding your opponent; and ear slap can screw up his equilibrium and possibly burst his eardrum while being very painful; any jab to the throat is painful and will cause your opponent to choke. In fact, if enough damage is done, it will cause the throat to swell, possibly cutting off his air supply.

Bruce showed her how to kick someone in the knee to disable them and then how to blitz him in the face, neck, and head with something called a hammer fist or a knife hand. He reviewed the pressure points that Dick had showed her and introduced her to at least three more.

When they finished, Elle sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. Loosened strands of sweat-drenched hair stuck to her neck. Her legs felt wobbly and she held them up with her arms wrapped around them, dropping her forehead onto her knees. She was beyond exhausted. What irritated her was that Dick and Bruce looked as fresh as a couple of damned daisies!

Dick sat a couple of bottles of water and a sports drink beside her. "Just rest up a little while. Bruce and I are going to spar a bit and then we will show you how to go up against two opponents simultaneously."

Elle gaped at him. "We're going to do more," she squeaked.

"Only after you rest and recuperate for a bit," he promised.

"You guys have shown me so much already, I don't know that I'll be able to remember everything," she moaned.

"We don't expect you to remember it all immediately," he told her. "We will be adding all this new stuff to your regular workout. Eventually, if will become automatic."

Elle opened her mouth to complain, but remembered her true goal was for Dick to admire her strength and determination like he did his other girlfriends, and promptly closed it; nodding her reluctant agreement.

"That's my girl," he said, encouragingly. "I'll make it up to you later. Promise."

Her smile was weak, but present. Why did the muscles in her face ache? She opened the sports drink and chugged about half of it before she became cognizant of the fact that her boyfriend and his father were circling each other warily.

_Oh yeah, they were sparring each other_, she remembered. Even her brain was tired apparently.

It didn't take long before Elle was mesmerized with both the beauty and brutality of their workout. Both men were as graceful as dancers, but their blows were powerful and looked deadly. None were actually landing as each of the men easily blocked the other's attack. It was as fascinating as it was frightening, however, and she watched, enthralled.

They appeared to be evenly matched, until Dick decided to step it up by adding his acrobatics. He was amazingly agile, she thought. He only managed to get in one hit as Bruce reacted immediately to compensate for the change in his opponent's fighting style. Dick leapt to avoid a leg sweep and used Bruce's shoulders as a launching pad to flip over his shoulders. Bruce spun around quickly and grabbed the back of Dick shirt to yank him back out of the air and down onto the mat on his back.

Dick hit hard and the blow with the mat knocked a grunt out of him. Bruce stepped over him, prepared to deliver a blow. Gasping, Elle forgot her fatigue and jumped up in shock. Dick swung his legs up and grasped Bruce's torso between them and pulled him down. The two began grappling until Dick slipped out of Bruce's hold and rolled away, only to flip to his feet. Bruce followed suit instantly.

The two circled each other again. There seemed to be another silent conversation going on between them, and some kind of consensus was made. They moved together to the side wall where a collection of bo-staffs and fighting sticks were displayed. Bruce's hand grasped a staff while Dick went straight for the fighting sticks.

Bruce lunged forward; thrusting the staff at Dick's midsection. Dick sidestepped the move, using one hand to swipe the staff away from his body as he moved in to strike the face. Bruce moved with the block swinging the staff up and around into a vertical block. The resultant clash of the two weapons made Elle flinch. She leaned back into the wall as if wanting to disappear into it.

Bruce swung the top of the staff down with the intention of hitting Dick's shoulder and possibly stunning him into dropping one of his weapons. Dick easily predicted the move and spun away. Bruce's staff met air as Dick performed a spinning roundhouse kick in the direction of Bruce's head. Bruce ducked and turned, bringing the staff around in an arc aimed at striking Dick in the back. As Dick landed, however, he swung both sticks down and to the side, blocking the blow, but barely.

Elle gasped; eyes wide. They weren't pulling their punches at all. Each swing, each kick, every blow was coming at full strength and meant to incapacitate their opponent!

_Holy Crap_! Elle jumped as yet another audible crack echoed throughout the room.

Dick landed a lucky sidekick into Bruce's ribs, but the older man didn't even flinch. Bruce moved instead with the blow; twisting his back to bring the staff down on the opposite side and striking Dick's forearm hard enough to numb his fingers and forcing him to drop one of his weapons. Dick swung the other stick at Bruce's incoming figure. His bo-staff inconveniently placed, Bruce blocked the blow with his own arm; rewarding Dick with a grunt of pain.

Impossibly, they smile at one another and both toss their weapons away. Elle doesn't even have the chance to breathe a sigh of relief before Dick rushed Bruce with a number of roundhouse kicks, alternating both legs. Bruce backed up, using his forearms to block the flurry of kicks.

Elle was reaching her limit. She wanted to scream at them to Stop! _Stop_! It was too much!

Finally, as Bruce neared the wall several feet from where Elle stood, he grabbed Dick's leg instead of blocking his kick, and rotated all the while keeping his son's leg extended. He landed a sharp elbow to Dick's head. The attack dropped him and Bruce pushed his advantage. He brought his foot down hard, but Dick was no longer there as he rolled away. Bruce followed close, stomping down in a repeated attack and forcing Dick to keep rolling in order to avoid Bruce's feet.

He rolled in the direction of Elle, and she backed away from the combatants. Suddenly, Dick does a reversal, and rolled back toward Bruce; coming in under his foot and knocking him off-balance. Bruce fell forward, but caught himself on his hands and flipped over to land on his feet. He spun around just as Dick regained his own feet.

Dick was swaying! Elle knew that it was from that devastating blow he took to the head. Caught up in the adrenaline rush, Elle's heart was pounding in fear. She realized that none of those other men that Nightwing had fought were even a challenge to him because the man who trained him was as incredible a fighter as Dick, and seemingly merciless even in practice.

Bruce surprised Elle and Dick both when he closed the distance between he and his son with several fast front flips. It was not his usual fighting style, but proved that Dick wasn't the only gymnast in the family, even if he was the most talented. Dick responded with a couple of back flips, but his balance was off from the hit he took earlier and he stumbled. Bruce landed in front of him solidly, but jumped up to kick Dick in the chest with both feet; sending the younger man flying backwards. Bruce rushed over to where Dick had landed in a sprawl. The younger man was slow getting up.

Just as Bruce approached his son, he was hit from behind. Surprised, he staggered; going down on one knee, and suddenly Elle was right there in his face. His shock allowed her to land one solid blow to his left cheek before he grabbed her; slamming her onto the mat and pinning her into place.

She yelped at the pain that the punch sent reverberating up her arm. But she was a virago; kicking and biting at him albeit ineffectively. Her growls were punctuated with furious screams.

"Leave him alone!" She yelled, enraged. "No more!"

"Elle," Bruce tried to calm her, but she was having none of it.

"If you touch him again, so help me God, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life," she snarled.

"Elle," Dick kneeled down beside her, taking over for Bruce. "Elle, stop! It's okay! Bruce didn't hurt me!"

Bruce stood up, watching as his son struggled to contain his girlfriend. "Not even that elbow to the head," he asked.

Dick looked back over his shoulder at him in consternation. "Okay, maybe that one hit," he laughed. "I'll admit it. You really rang my bell with that one."

Bruce smiled, as he rubbed a hand over his ribs. "That sidekick was pretty brutal," he told him.

"And that last kick," Dick said. "I'd rub my chest, but I'm still a little busy here."

Their banter was beginning to break through the red haze that had descended on Elle when she had thought Bruce was going in for the kill. She blinked up at Dick who was smirking down at her. As soon as he felt her calm, he slowly released her.

"Are you okay, now?" He asked this with way too much good humor. "Should Bruce be worried?"

Elle sat up. She was shaking now, and to her utter dismay began to cry. Startled, Dick pulled her into his arms. He glanced up at Bruce to find him dumbstruck.

"Hey," he murmured. "It's okay. We were just sparring. It wasn't real."

Elle sniffled, clutching him to her. "I-It looked real," she stammered. "It l-looked really intense!"

Bruce, finally determining it was safe, knelt on the other side of her. "I wouldn't intentionally hurt Dick, but we train this hard so that we are better prepared for whatever the streets might throw at us," he explained, gently. "The people we go up against won't stop whenever we take a hit and let us recover."

She snuggled deeper into Dick's arms. "It was scary."

"I'm sorry," Dick told her. "I should have warned you it could be like this. This is normal for us, and I didn't think about what it would look like to a civilian."

"Is it like that often . . . Out there, I mean?" Elle leaned back to look at the both of them. "It didn't seem to be that intense those two times I saw you in action."

Dick smiled at her. "Not usually, no. It is usually just like those times you witnessed, but every so often you meet up with someone better trained or better prepared and things can get pretty fierce then."

"If we trained for the muggers and petty robbers we meet, we would be in serious trouble during those times we are facing stronger opponents or hard-core criminals," Bruce added. "Are you better now?"

She was . . . But she was also deeply embarrassed.

"Y-Yes," she nodded. She accepted Bruce's hand in helping her stand up. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

Bruce smirked at her. "For what exactly are you apologizing? Coming to Dick's rescue or for punching me?"

Elle opened her mouth and closed it again. She frowned as she thought about it.

"You have a point," she said. "Apology retracted."

Bruce's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Retracted?"

"I'll always go to Dick's rescue if he needs it," she explained, but then she narrowed her eyes at Bruce. "But if you hit him again like that, I make no promises. Training is over for today," Elle announced, walking toward the locker room. "I'm taking a shower."

* * *

The two men watched her walk away, and when Elle disappeared through the door, they exchanged glances.

"Wow," Dick said.

"We have our work cut out for us," Bruce mused. "She could have done some damage if she knew how to throw a better punch." His fingers touched the bruise forming on his cheekbone.

"I can't believe she did that. She attacked the Goddamned Batman." Dick shook his head. "Amazing."

Bruce smirked. "You got yourself a keeper."

Dick grinned at him. "Speaking of which . . ."

* * *

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**I thought to have this up earlier, but the sparring match became kind of epic and required a bit more thought. Hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you thought of it, please . . . **


	55. Going Home

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

It took some doing, but Dick managed to get Peterson to cover his shift for him on Saturday. He still had to work second shift on Sunday, but he was certain he could be back from Chicago on time. He hoped that Elle would be able to make the return with him, but wasn't sure if she would prefer to stay with her family another day.

He glanced over at Elle in the passenger seat. She was unusually silent for this trip. She stared out the window, not excited to be going home for an early Christmas, but looked as if she were headed to her own demise. It was so out of character for what he knew about her that Dick wondered if there were something he was missing.

"Why do I get the feeling that you didn't want me to come on this trip," he asked her; trying not to feel hurt.

His family, not known for their hospitality except when keeping up appearances, had pulled out all the stops for her. He had only met her father twice, and neither time had been a relaxing time full of fun and laughter. Certainly Christmas would be the perfect opportunity to meet with her father and finally be introduced to her brother in a setting of yuletide celebration. That was good, right? Everyone would be on their best behavior and the event would roll by smoothly.

At least that was the plan.

It was a plan that Elle didn't appear to be in on.

Elle sighed and rolled her head to look at him. "It's not that," she told him. "It's just my family . . . This would be so different if we were traveling to meet my grandparents."

Dick frowned as he watched the road. "I've met your father, though. Although neither time was during the best of circumstances . . ." Boy, was that an understatement. "He wasn't so bad. We got along well enough. I kind of got the feeling the last time that he even approved of me."

Elle gave him a disbelieving look.

"Not so bad . . ." She shook her head. "Look, it isn't so much my father. You're going to be meeting my brother, too, tomorrow night."

"That's right," he said, surprised. He generally remembered everything she had ever told him about her family, but she only mentioned the brother once to him and that in passing. "You have a brother. You never talk about him. What's his name?"

"Aiden."

That's it? All that she was going to volunteer about him? It didn't take a neon billboard flashing to tell him they apparently didn't get along.

"I don't always get along with my brothers either," he said hoping to ease her into revealing more.

"You do well enough," she muttered, staring back at the passing countryside.

"You've haven't met Jason, yet," Dick remarked sarcastically.

She glanced back at him.

Aha! She was interested . . . Now, how could he use this?

"Jason's kind of the family black sheep," he explained.

Her lips tilted up on one side. Dick's eyes crinkled at the thought that she might consider herself as having something in common with his most obstinate brother. He couldn't imagine Elle as being a black sheep in her family.

She pointed to an upcoming road. Dick slowed to turn and then realized that he wasn't turning onto a road, but onto a driveway. The drive was curving so one couldn't see what lay beyond the next curve and was lined with a hedgerow and tall Maple trees whose branches extended over the drive. The snow made it look majestic and magical. Despite herself, Elle straightened up in her seat as if eager to see her childhood home.

"This must be magnificent in the fall," he murmured.

The house had yet to come into view. Its drive had to be three times that to Wayne Manor, but then Bruce's home was just on the outskirts of Gotham City. Hamilton built his home almost twenty minutes past the last neighborhood on a huge expanse of land that bordered the shores of Lake Michigan. The drive into the city would take the at least an hour.

"How can your father stand the commute into the city?" Dick wondered aloud.

"Poppa has a helicopter for those times he must get in quickly, and other times, he is driven in by his chauffer while he works in the back. He can cut his time at the office short since his workday begins and ends in his limo. When the commute is inconvenient, he stays at the penthouse." Elle explained. "We'll be staying at the penthouse tomorrow night after the company party."

Ah, yes, he thought. Hamilton Industries annual Christmas event. It was an _event_, too. No normal Christmas shindig where the employees got drunk on eggnog and passed out pictures made on the company copier of Melvin from Accounting's butt or where Cindy from the secretarial pool makes out in the boss's office with Eddie from the mailroom.

"You remembered to rent a tux," Elle asked suddenly. "If not, I'm sure we can find something for you before then."

Dick glanced over at her, amused by her nervousness. "Elle, I grew up attending these kinds of events with Bruce. I own at least three tuxes."

She smirked at him, rewarding him with a hint of her old self. "But did you remember to bring it with you?"

Dick's heart skipped a beat before he remembered tucking the garment bag on top of his small bag and Elle luggage.

"You did that on purpose," he accused, rubbing a hand over his chest.

Elle giggled. Her laughter died abruptly as the house finally came into view at last. It was made of brown brick with pale accents. Vaguely Tudor-ish in architectural style, it managed to look both elegant and modern at the same time.

"Impressive," Dick commented as he bent his head to see as much of the home as he could as he drove up to the front doors. "I like all the windows."

"Wait until you see the inside," Elle grinned. Her earlier reticence nowhere in sight now.

Elle was out of the car before Dick got his car door open. The front door of the mansion opened and the Hamilton's version of Alfred appeared. Elle threw her arms around the poor man, but one of his arms came around to hug her fondly for the briefest moments before his eyes took in Dick. He pulled himself up into the epitome of butlerhood, and Dick had to hide his smile.

"Welcome home, Miss Bella," the man greeted her with a stiff nod.

Elle laughed, but didn't embarrass the man further. "Thank you, Frankie. I missed you."

"The feeling, I can assure you, Miss, is mutual."

Elle ran back where Dick was pulling their bags from the car. "Hey, don't dis the help," she told him. "These guys put a lot of stock in their professional reputations, you know."

Dick smiled and set the luggage down by the curb. "Wouldn't want to do that. I learned a long time ago to never get Alfred angry."

Elle smiled back. "Once they get used to you, you can haul around just about anything you like. They might not like it much, but they'll indulge you. Right now, however, you are a guest, and guests don't tote their own bags anywhere."

Dick followed Elle back up the steps. "Franklin," she said. "This is Richard Grayson. He's my bonded mate."

Not friend; not boyfriend, but bonded mate. Franklin must have been employed by the family for years to be in the know like this. He wondered if all the servants were aware of who and what their mistresses were. Franklin certainly was, for his eyes lit up even if he retained that stiff upper lip that all good butlers wore.

"Indeed," he nodded in Dick's direction. His gaze still curious, but much warmer. "Welcome to the Estate, sir. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Franklin, and should you have need of anything during your stay, please, come to me and make your wishes known."

"Anything?" Dick couldn't resist a little tease.

Franklin didn't bat an eye. "Anything," he confirmed.

"Well, I wish to know where Poppa is," Elle asked.

The shift in Franklin was subtle, but Dick noticed. Something wasn't right. Franklin's gaze had a plea in them as the butler glanced Dick's way and then back to his mistress.

"He is in his room, Miss Bella," he said simply.

Elle frowned, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. The winter sun was dipping low on the horizon already. "So early? Has there been no improvement?"

"He wanted to be well rested for dinner and the evening festivities," Franklin explained without actually answering her question.

"Festivities?" Elle asked. "What exactly does that mean? Are we having guests?"

"Mr. Aiden will be joining you tonight." There was no mistaking the gravity in the majordomo's voice. Apparently, the servants understood the nature of the brother/sister relationship all too well.

If Dick hadn't been watching for a reaction, he might have missed it. He could hardly credit it knowing Elle the way he did, but sure enough, for just a second, she seemed to shrink in on herself.

So much for a 'Merry' Christmas . . .

* * *

Cedric had instructed that Dick's bags be placed in Elle's bedroom. Dick looked around with interest at the room where his girlfriend grew up. If he felt in the least bit uncomfortable with the feminine colors and the occasional frilly touches, he never said a word. He wouldn't complain when this was his best opportunity yet to learn something about the girl Elle had been growing up.

He wandered over to her bookshelf that was filled with trophies and medals for swimming and diving. She hadn't been joking when she said she had the trophies to prove she was fast in the water. There were pictures of her with her teammates and one of her out in front of her competition by two entire lengths. He wondered if she had been holding back. He knew that she could have been finished the race before the other swimmers were even a third of the way into their first lap.

He stopped at her desk and picked up a framed photo of a woman that looked amazingly like Elle and a small girl about five or six years old. Esmeralda, he thought; Elle's mother. There were a few differences. Her mother's smile was even wider than Elle's, her hair was a lighter brown, her eyes darker, and she was slimmer, more willowy than her decidedly curvier daughter.

"She was taller than I am," Elle commented as she entered the room. "Nonna is, too. I guess I take after the women on my father's side of the family."

"Did you see your father?" Dick asked, setting the photo back in place.

She frowned. "The doctor is in with him."

"So, what exactly is wrong with Cedric?"

Elle went to the bed and climbed onto it; kneeling on the mattress. "I honestly don't know." At Dick's look of disbelief, she sighed. "It started out as exhaustion, due to overwork, we thought. Then there was a lack of appetite, headaches, and dizziness, followed by muscle weakness, loss of coordination . . ." Her voice dwindled away.

Dick sat down beside her. The fear crept into her eyes, increasing with each symptom she listed. He put his arm around her.

"It scares me," she admitted quietly. "The thought of losing him. But in the beginning I thought that maybe he was . . . you know, faking it; to get me to stay with him. It terrified me to think I would never leave this place, as much as I love it. And now, I'm thinking that I wasted all this time I could have spent with him."

When Dick remained silent; just a strong shoulder and a listening ear, she sighed and continued.

"He just makes me so angry," she told him. "I feel so frustrated and confined here. It is like I cannot breathe. But as much as his high-handedness infuriates me, I still love him." She looked up at Dick. "He's my father."

That one small sentence said so much. She leaned her head against his shoulder, taking advantage of his strength, if just for a little while. She bet none of his other girlfriends were this needy. She bet they handled things like this with level-headed aplomb and lady-like dignity.

"But I don't want to stay here. I feel as though I might never leave!" Her breath hitched. "Does that make me a bad daughter?"

She felt his lips, warm against the skin of her forehead. His arm tightened around her.

"You are one of the best women I have ever met," he told her; giving her back the compliment she had once bestowed on him.

* * *

_One of_ . . . She noticed. It should have made her feel great; should have made her feel wonderful and on top of the world. Normally, she thought it would, but for being here. Instead, however, it made her feel strangely sad. His arm should have given her strength, but instead she felt alone despite his company.

_Not enough_. _Would she ever be enough_ . . .

It was the house, she decided. She was weak whenever she came here. It represented her childhood when she was dependent on others for her every need. But not this time, Elle determined. She would not be weak, not this time. She would be strong . . . Like Dick's other girlfriends. She could do this. She lifted her head and sat up straight; away from him.

Her father was dying. It was the first time she admitted this to herself. Elle would be strong for him as well as for Dick, and maybe herself. _Poppa wouldn't want to linger_. She could do this. After all, people buried their parents every day. The memory of standing beside her mother's open grave as dirt was shoveled on top of her casket flashed in front of her eyes, and made her lip quiver. The idea of having to watch as the same thing happened to her father . . . She bit her lip, hard.

She would not cry.

Memory of her father's deterioration as the doctor examined him as she stood in the doorway, made her breath hitch. Dick's arms tightened around her, tugging her against him once more. She snuggled into him; breathing in the perfect combination of scents that made him up; his shampoo, his deodorant, the detergent he used, and that unique aroma that was his skin. It calmed her and oddly made her feel safe again.

Her hand slipped up to wipe away the one, lone tear that managed to escape her steel grip over her emotions. She could do this. She would hate it, but she would do it anyway.

It was the last thought she had for a few hours as sleep eventually overtook her.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**High-stress situations will give us a glimpse into Elle that we usually do not see . . . She's not quite as confident in herself as she would have us believe.**


	56. A Not-So-Merry Christmas

**"Last Chance" has met and surpassed _20,000 views_! I'm so excited! A lot more than the 40 favorites must be liking the story . . . Thank you so much for your attention! I appreciate every single one of you that have given Elle a chance, guests and members alike. If you like it - please Fave it! **

**This is entirely from Dick's POV. On the timeline, this is approximately two and a half weeks from December 25th.**

**WARNING: Strong Language . . . **

* * *

The Hamiltons dressed for dinner.

Dick adjusted his tie and slipped on a dress jacket. He glanced over at Elle as she made a few last minute adjustments to her hair, and her bare minimum make-up. She had piled it high and left long curls to flow down her back. This style always drove Dick a little crazy. Those curls teased him; only partially hiding the creamy skin of her neck.

She wore a midnight blue cocktail dress that had a conservative boatneck front and long sleeves. It clung to her curves and ended at the top of her knee, but when she turned around the dress plunged deeply down to her waist; leaving her entire upper back exposed with the exception of three lines of draped beads. Those curls continued to dangle temptingly.

Dick found that he was hungry for something other than food all of a sudden. Elle met his eyes in the mirror, and the slightest hint of a smile curved her pale-pink lips.

"Dessert," she promised, and stood.

Dick took the opportunity to nuzzle her bare ear, earning him a giggle. He sighed as the sound of it eased the tension that had been building in him since that morning. Elle had been so quiet and withdrawn from the moment they left Bludhaven. It didn't improve much upon their arrival. He could tell she was fond of the servants, and that she loved the house, but he could see what she meant by it seeming to swallow her up. It made him wonder exactly what her childhood _had_ been like.

He saw pictures of her smiling and laughing, but every so often he would come across the occasional photo of a pensive Elle, or a thoughtful Elle, and then there was one that had bothered him, no matter that it was beautiful and artistic. Elle looked like she was maybe twelve in it. Her head had been turned away to the side and angled down as if she were looking at something on the ground nearby, but her expression had been one of intense sadness.

The camera had caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, although none touched her cheek. A commiserating pain had stabbed his chest as he stared at the photo. He wondered what it was that had so saddened her, but didn't want to ask Elle about it in case the memory would bring back those feelings from before. He didn't want Elle to be sad. The expression looked foreign on her; all wrong as if it didn't belong there.

What was Cedric thinking, though, keeping that photograph up? Certainly every time Elle saw it, whatever terrible memory it invoked would return to haunt her.

Dick was glad that he had come, however. He didn't like the thought of Elle here by herself without some kind of support system. The servants were sympathetic, but unlike Alfred, they were still just servants. Dick remembered Elle greeting Franklin. The butler seemed to be a little more to her than the others, but the employer/employee status still hung there between them. Alfred was more than a servant, for all that Bruce paid him. He was family, and Dick had always held a place in his heart for the man who had been more like a grandfather to him than he had as any mere servant.

But who had been there for Elle? Her grandmother . . . But the way he understood it, Elle would only spend a month or two around Christmas or else a portion of a summer in Italy with her grandparents. The rest of the year would be spent with a distracted father whose spare attention was spent whittling away at his daughter's self-confidence, aloof servants, or with a brother with whom she obviously didn't get along . . . Or she spent it alone.

The woman he had discovered over the past few months was like a treasure. She was happy and optimistic; loving and forgiving; sweet, caring, and thoughtful. Elle was filled to the brim with the simple joy of living. He would never have dreamed that she had been lonely and neglected for the majority of her life. She reminded him of those early spring flowers that would push through the hard, snowy crust to bloom in the most brilliant and glorious colors even while the rest of the world around them was still grim, cold, and barren from the long, harsh winter.

* * *

They entered the family dining room together. It had beautiful rosewood paneling and long windows along one wall and a huge fireplace dominating the room. What immediately caught one's eye, however, was the gargantuan Christmas tree situated in one corner near a window and bordering a roaring fireplace. The fire made the room just a bit too warm, but it did bring out the scent of the fragrant pine that decorated the mantle. It was utterly picturesque; like something one might find pictured in one of the home decorating magazines during the holiday season. The colors were crystal, white, and an aquamarine blue. The color of the sea . . .

The table the room boasted was long enough to seat twelve people, but Dick didn't doubt that it had eaves that could be added to extend it. He held Elle's chair for her and walked around the table to sit directly across from her. The table was too wide to reach across. He thought fondly of meals at the small dining table in Elle's apartment, or those evenings when they would sit across from each other on the couch or the bed and feed one another from each other's plates.

Cedric entered the room next in a wheelchair. Dick recognized Hendricks, one of Cedric's bodyguards, pushing the wheelchair to the head of the table.

"Welcome to my home, Richard," Cedric told him; his voice much weakened from the commanding one that Dick remembered.

Frankly, Dick was shocked by the man's appearance. That Cedric was up rather than in bed was surprising; he looked like he was wobbling on the knife-edge of collapse. No wonder Elle had come back to the room so upset. And this kind of deterioration in the span of just two weeks was completely unnerving in its reminder of man's ultimate mortality.

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton," Dick nodded respectfully. "Your home is truly beautiful."

"I built it for my Esmeralda," Cedric smiled; his eyes going soft at the memory of his beloved wife.

"Ah, yes, the beautiful Esmeralda," came another voice from behind them. It was a strong voice that bespoke the entry of a powerful man. "My father is never one to pass up the opportunity to brag on his perfect second-wife; the epitome of womanhood."

Dick turned and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair and just a hint of distinguished gray touching his temples. He had a broad forehead; a thin blade of a nose; high cheekbones; a harsh mouth, and square jawline. Aiden Hamilton looked like the kind of man who commanded empires. His blue-eyes were hawk-like and cold, and Dick didn't doubt for a moment, unforgiving.

"Father," the man dipped his head in grudging respect to the elder man.

He stopped behind Elle's chair, and Dick had to fight the sudden urge to throw himself across the table at the other man. His eyes narrowed as Aiden placed his large hands over his sister's delicate shoulders and leaned down to place a chaste, brotherly kiss upon her cheek. The two siblings couldn't have been more different and still share a genetic link.

Elle's eyes were on her lap, and while her face did not betray her thoughts, Dick could sense her revulsion. He frowned, reconsidering his initial judgement that jealousy and sibling rivalry was behind the brother and sister's estrangement. The feeling that just washed over him from head to toe couldn't stem from something as common and mundane as typical resentment. It made a joke out of what lay between he and Jason.

He found himself shuddering in her stead.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, _sister_," Aiden asked smoothly, but Dick heard the slight snide tone that the word 'sister' held.

Aiden moved to the table and stretched his hand across. Unwilling to remain seated while this man stood, Dick pushed to his feet. He shook hands with the other man as judgements were made by both parties based upon the other man's grip.

"Richard Grayson-Wayne," Dick said; saving Elle the trouble. It wasn't necessary, but Dick decided it wouldn't hurt to toss Bruce's last name into the mix. And he wasn't sensitive over his nickname. He'd had it forever, and sarcastic comments were incapable of drawing a rise out of him, but no sense in giving the other man any other ammunition. He didn't know why he added the rest, but he opened his mouth anyway. "Bond-mate."

If he hadn't been looking in the other man's eyes, he might have missed it. Aiden Hamilton had been more than willing to dismiss him as unimportant until Dick clarified his relationship with the man's sister. Aiden reconsidered the man in front of him for a long moment. Then it appeared . . . Hatred.

It made Dick blink. Such a strong reaction, even if it were only limited to the reflection in the man's eyes. Hatred . . . By association?

Aiden Hamilton _hated_ his sister. Elle's reaction concerning her brother suddenly made sense and again made whatever rift that existed between Dick and Jason shrink considerably in comparison.

Surely, he was wrong, but what he had glimpsed in Aiden Hamilton's gaze made a mockery of Dick's hesitation to assume the worst. Dick sat down slowly, keeping Elle's brother in his line of sight. This wasn't a man he wanted at his back.

Aiden straightened and moved to his seat at the opposite end of the table from his father. "I suppose then that congratulations are in order," he murmured.

Elle shifted in her seat, but made no comment. Dick watched her, waiting for her usual bubbly personality to return and with it some kind of snarky, funny remark to distill the tension that was thick in the room. He was to be disappointed.

"Indeed, it is," Cedric agreed. "Champagne is in order. Bring up the Gout de Diamants," he waved a hand weakly to his steward. The man disappeared silently to do his employer's bidding.

Aiden blinked. "That's a pricey toast, Father."

Dick wasn't ignorant of fine wines and champagnes, certainly, but he didn't consider himself a connoisseur. Most of the time, while attending one of Bruce's events, he nursed the same glass all night, or dumped most of it in a convenient receptacle. Getting drunk or even a bit tipsy was a dangerous risk in his line of work; particularly in Gotham and Bludhaven. He glanced at Elle, noting her own surprise.

"It is a _very_ expensive bottle," Elle told him; looking a little shocked.

"Gout de Diamants . . . 'Taste of Diamonds'?" Dick translated.

"Bella," Aiden laughed. "The little queen of understatement." He turned to Dick and explained. "A magnum of Gout de Diamants runs over two million a bottle."

Dick's mouth dropped open. He swung around to face Cedric. "Are you serious?"

"Nothing but the best for my Bella," he said fondly.

Elle blushed and ducked her head. From the corner of his eye, Dick watched as Aiden shot her a glance.

"The only thing that might make it better would be if you had a date for me," Cedric teased, good-naturedly.

At least one person was enjoying himself tonight, he thought. Dick hadn't even talked with Elle about the possibility of marriage. She would never bring it up first, he knew, but pushing this now would take the magic from any proposal when it finally happened. In fact, Dick had been hoping for the opportunity to speak privately with Cedric this weekend. He sighed.

Elle flashed him a panicked look, and blushed even deeper.

"Poppa, you mustn't force the issue," she said, hurriedly. "We are already bonded. Marriage is a little redundant. There is no rush." She looked across the table at Dick. "I'm in no hurry. Don't allow him to pressure you."

That she worried that he wouldn't want to marry her even after they were bonded sent a flurry of emotions through him that Dick didn't immediately recognize. He decided that they were . . . unpleasant. He smiled at her, but remained silent. Despite the need to reassure her of her importance in his life, he wasn't yet prepared to have his own plans discovered prematurely.

"Redundant or no, your grandmother would have my head if I didn't at least bring the subject up," Cedric told her.

Elle facepalmed, groaning. "You've been talking to her, haven't you?"

"Bella," Cedric crooned. "Your nonna is old world. She believes in the sanctity of marriage despite its '_redundancy_', you understand. She knows that the surface world would not recognize the bond in its place."

Aiden looked up from his water glass, intrigued.

"That's not entirely true anymore, Poppa," Elle corrected him. "There are such things as common law marriages."

Aiden set his glass down. "Since when have you ever been _common_, little Bella?"

Dick didn't miss the sarcasm that laced the brother's words. He might have, though, if he hadn't been already aware of the trouble that existed between Elle and her brother. It was subtle. The man was careful not to be obvious. The butler knew of the animosity, but Cedric himself seemed oblivious . . . Or else he purposely ignored it, and maybe even encouraged it? No, that couldn't be so . . .

Cedric frowned at her. "A common law marriage is not for my daughter."

Dick caught another wave of panic from Elle. She was afraid of his reaction. Dick, however, wasn't so much upset by the topic as he was by her own reaction to it. He was concerned by Aiden's anger and hatred, and even more by Cedric purposeful insensitivity. He realized that she, too, was feeling his own discomfort and, like him, couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of it. She thought his worry was over the pressure to marry being placed on him by Cedric.

Dick sat forward and picked up his own water glass. "Elle is correct in that there is no need to hurry this, sir. We are content right now to get to know one another better rather than move too quickly into the next step. It would look odd to our friends should we rush right into a union without at least a short period of courtship."

"Commitment frightens you, does it, Richard?" Cedric tilted his head at him. The older man thought he had Dick pegged. He would learn his error soon enough.

"Nothing about having Elle in my life frightens me, Mr. Hamilton. Neither of us appreciate having our lives dictated to us, however, even by well-meaning relatives." Dick winked at Elle.

He was relieved when he saw a genuinely happy smile flit across her face, even if only for a moment. A wave of love, happiness, and gratitude washed over him.

The steward reentered the dining room holding a silver bucket of ice with a magnum of what Dick assumed was the ridiculously-priced champagne. The bottle was dark and decorated with a distinctive label created, he discovered, in 18 carat white gold and in its center was one 19 carat, smooth-cut diamond. It appeared to Dick that the bottle was worth more than its contents.

Cedric waved the steward away from him and toward his son. Aiden looked a little startled and somewhat put out by the maneuver. He was being forced to open the bottle in celebration of his little sister's good fortune. Ever the obedient son, Aiden picked up the bottle and held it appreciatively, spending a moment admiring the craftsmanship.

With a shrug, he expertly popped the cork and began filling the crystal champagne glasses that had materialized in front of him by the ever-efficient servants in his father's employ. Dick and Elle received their glasses at the same time. The bubbling liquid was the palest gold in color. Its bouquet was light and fruity, and Dick took the time to appreciate it. It wasn't every day that he was privileged enough to drink a $200,000 glass of champagne, after all.

Cedric stood up; his balance obviously precarious. Hendricks stepped forward, hovering protectively. Picking up his glass, he held it up and looked upon his daughter.

"To my beloved daughter, Arabella, and her bonded mate, Richard," he said. "May your lives together be long and prosperous and filled with happiness . . . and perhaps, if I am lucky, the sound of little feet before long, eh?"

Elle's mouth dropped open and the blush was back with a vengeance. Dick was a little surprised, but he managed to keep his composure. If he blushed, it wasn't more than a pale pink flush barely visible across his olive complexion. He had gotten oddly used to Cedric's unusual interest in his and Elle's sex lives. He had assumed that the man's interest was limited to the bonding process, but this, at least, made more sense. Cedric was hoping for grandchildren, and wasn't above a little guilt and manipulation in order to get it; such as allowing Elle's new boyfriend to share a room with her.

Aiden coughed, but when Cedric's sharp gaze flew to him, the other man merely nodded sagely.

"Here, here!" he said a little too enthusiastically, and tipped the glass up. That the expensive champagne was meant to be savored did not faze him in the slightest apparently as everyone watched Aiden drain his glass. He held his newly-emptied flute up to be refilled.

Cedric sat back down with no little assistance from his bodyguard. He required a moment to regain his breath. Dick narrowed his eyes as the startling changes. The man's pallor had increased just from standing a few minutes. Dick wondered if the doctor was still in residence. Cedric looked as though he should be gracing a hospital bed rather than presiding over an extremely uncomfortable family gathering.

* * *

The meal followed. Several courses filled with delicious recipes. The chef that Hamilton employed was gifted. It wasn't Alfred's, of course, and Dick thought that Elle might even be able to give the man a run for his money, but it was enjoyable all the same.

Dick focused on eating more than conversation. Although, no amount of good food could sweeten the atmosphere nor provide a bevy of noncontroversial topics. Finally, a white chocolate-cherry tart was served with a sweet white dessert wine much to his relief; the signal that the dinner was nearly over.

Cedric had mostly picked at his meal, as had Elle. Aiden had eaten with gusto. Whatever tension was still in the room, it apparently didn't affect the appetite of the current CEO of Hamilton Industries.

"I suppose you have given no more thought as to joining the family business, Bella?" Cedric asked. He ignored the dessert but favored a cup of coffee instead.

Aiden pushed his half-eaten tart away. So, something had finally made the man sit up and take notice.

"Poppa," Elle set her fork down and leaned back in her chair. "We've gone over this so many times. I don't know why you keep insisting bringing it up. I have no desire to get involved in the business. That's Aiden's job. He does more than well enough. Why mess with a good thing?"

Cedric lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know how well your brother does in business?"

Elle blew out a breath in frustration. "I might have read over some of the reports that you keep having your secretary send me. It just ensures me that the company is in good hands and I can devote my time to pursuing a life beyond the boardroom without you guilting me about it."

Dick watched as Aiden slowly relaxed against his chair. He was worried, Dick decided. Cedric wanted Elle in the company and Aiden considered his sister a potential threat, perhaps? Why? Elle's passion was music. Even if she never sought fame, Dick knew she would always keep a finger in the field that held her heart.

"It seems a waste of a degree, my dear," Cedric was saying. "And you have a talent for it."

"I also have a degree in music, Poppa," Elle said, obviously having repeated this conversation many times in the past.

"No woman on your mother's side of the family has been able to pursue a career in music past a few years. You will not be able to either," Cedric insisted.

"As a _singer_, Poppa. No woman on Mama's side has been able to pursue a career as a singer," Elle clarified. "Although I understand why now, there are a lot of other options open to women in the music business. I do not have to sing to remain in it and be successful."

"Have you nothing to add to the conversation, Richard?" Cedric turned his intensity on Dick. "Surely you are beginning to understand the dangers of a Siren having a singing career?"

Dick met Elle's gaze before he answered carefully. "Elle isn't planning to seek fame."

Cedric scoffed, furiously. "She doesn't have to. Fame will come seeking _her_!"

Dick frowned and glanced back at his mate. She, too, was frowning over her father's ramblings.

"Are you just saying this to get me to do your bidding," she asked slowly.

"It is a sad fact that there is nowhere on the planet for a Siren to sing in safety," her father declared flatly.

Elle played with her fork silently for a long moment before tossing it down on the plate with a clatter, and shoving it back away from her in a fit of pique.

"Why? Why can you not simply support me in the path I have chosen for myself," she asked him angrily.

"You would make the most amazing negotiator on the planet, Bella," Cedric insisted. "_No one_ would be able to beat you . . ."

"Aiden . . ." Elle sat up and pointed back at her ominously quiet brother.

Cedric slammed his palm down on the table. "Aiden is competent. Your brother can hold his own, but his success comes through his ruthlessness rather than through any real talent at negotiations. His way is one of innuendo or out-in-out threats!"

Elle gaped, her gaze involuntarily flickering back in her brother's direction. How Aiden could keep silent . . . Dick was impressed. He would have been yelling long before now.

"You have the talent, Bella. You have the knowledge to take the company into the future. You have a natural instinct . . ."

"I disagree, old man," Aiden finally spoke up. Anger edged his soft words. "Bella is naïve and far too trusting. She would not be able to cope against the sharks in this business. Her very 'sweetness' would be her swan song, so to speak."

Cedric narrowed his gaze upon his son. "Do not spout your jealous ramblings to me. If she would just set her mind to it . . ."

"Leave it alone, Poppa!" Elle begged.

"I built this company from the ground up," he told them. "I know who I want to see replace me in the pilot's seat."

"Aiden is already acting CEO," Elle reminded him, sharply.

"Not for long," Cedric declared, hotly.

"What?" The single word came out menacingly; drawing Dick's attention back to the brother.

"I met with my lawyers over the past week," he announced. "I am leaving Bella controlling interest of Hamilton Industries." Cedric's eyes flashed at his son. "Maybe if you are nice enough to her, she would decide to keep you on as a figurehead."

Silence reigned . . . for all of ten seconds.

Dick's gaze shot over to Elle only briefly. He turned to Aiden. The man's face was shocked and pale, but then it darkened with anger.

"You can't be serious," Aiden finally burst out. He stood up so quickly that the chair behind his fell back with a loud, startling clatter. He pointed in Elle's direction. "She is to get _everything_?! After all that I've done for you and Hamilton Industries? I am your_ son_ and this is how you propose to treat me?"

Cedric stared at the man he had raised to adulthood from his first marriage. Cedric was not blind. While Aiden was satisfactory in his role as CEO, he had inherited his mother's emotional instability. It hadn't been a factor until now because Cedric had been active in the business and able to mitigate any problems that would arise from his son's mistakes. Unfortunately, without someone to balance him, Aiden was as likely tear the business apart as to build it up.

"I have not forgotten you, Aiden, but I also know that Bella will not reach her true potential without incentive. I have now given her that. The company's future will ultimately rest with her . . . to succeed or fail." His eyes rested on his daughter. "I have faith that you will rise to meet this challenge head on. I believe you will succeed and rather spectacularly at that."

Elle was shaking her head. "No, Poppa! No! Take it back! Call up your lawyers and undo this now."

"You only say that now," Cedric told her. "Once the shock has worn off . . ."

"I don't want it," Elle yelled, getting to her feet. "Give it to Aiden! He's been working for this all his life!"

Cedric leaned back in his chair and waved for Hendricks to take him back to his room. "It is already done."

"Then I will undo it," Elle threatened.

"You cannot. It is specified that the stock cannot be sold or transferred to any but your bondmate or your children or your children's children." Cedric smiled in Dick's direction. "I understand that you have taken classes in business."

Dick knew he probably looked as surprised as he felt. He had no more desire to run Hamilton Industries than he did Wayne Enterprises. He was dreading the day he might have to step into that role, but had high hopes for Tim in that regard. Surely, his brilliant brother would save him from a life behind a desk.

"The specifics will be spelled out to you upon my death." Cedric smiled. "Aiden, I promise, you are not forgotten. You will get Hamilton Trading."

"That's a sop!" Aiden slammed his fist down on the table. "Hamilton Trading falls under Hamilton Industries' umbrella! She will still be my _boss_! I have been working towards this all my life, and you want to give it to a _child_ who doesn't even have a care for the business that you and I have made successful together! I will not have this!"

"It is your choice, of course, Aiden. You will get the Penthouse, one hundred million, and the control of Hamilton Trading. It is yours. Build your own empire! Do whatever is necessary to make it succeed. Take what I give you and enjoy it, or you can blow it. You can burn it to the ground, for all I care." Cedric told him before the doors to the dining room closed behind him.

* * *

Aiden turned on Elle in a hot rage.

"This is _your_ fault," he snarled at her; moving around the table in her direction. "You and that bitch of a mother you had. Even in death that woman continues to plague me through you!"

Dick scanned the servants' reactions. Most had turned and left the dining room with Cedric, and the rest were moving to exit before the family squabble got out of hand. Elle spun around to face Aiden.

"I had nothing to do with this," she told him; trying to appeal to his reason. But Dick saw very little reason remaining.

He leapt to his feet, and then he was on the chair, then the table, and then flipping in mid-air to get himself between the brother and sister. Aiden was not so far gone that the lightning fast move didn't startle him.

"What the hell?" The thirty-five year old stepped back and then narrowed his eyes.

"This is your fault, too," he growled low as he faced Dick. "Had you not come into the picture, the old man wouldn't have done this. He would have been content to wait these two years for Bella to make a fool of herself and come crawling back to him. He would have seen for himself that she hasn't the wit to run her own life, let alone the likes of his company. You made this possible; you and that fucking _bond_!"

"Did you not hear her," Dick didn't want to be forced to hit him. He attempted to reason with him. "She told him she didn't want it. She told him to give it all to you."

"That little bitch has been taking from me her whole life," Aiden told him; his voice dangerous in its sudden calm. "You should run while you can . . . Before she takes something irreplaceable from you as well."

"We can work this out between us, Aiden," Elle said. "We can get our own lawyers! We don't have to stand for Poppa's manipulation. As usual, he is trying to force our hand. You know I'm right!"

"_Right_?" Aiden had begun to turn away, but looked back at her with a burning hatred that he no longer cared to hide. "Nothing has been '_right_' since the day you were born. But the old man was_ right_ in that I will stop at _nothing_ to succeed."

The tight smile that played across his face, sent a chill up Dick's spine. He felt an echoing reaction from Elle.

"Merry Christmas, little sister," he said. "I'll be seeing you at the gala tomorrow. Don't forget to save me a dance."

The promise held an ominous note that belied the spirit of the season as Elle's older brother stormed out of the room.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Uh oh, this doesn't bode well. Cedric might love his children, but his idea of parenting sucks!**

**"Nonna" is Italian for Grandmother . . . :D **

**Oh, and the Gout de Diamants is considered the world's most expensive champagne. In 2015, the price ranged upward of $2.1 million dollars for a bottle (a magnum is the equivalent of TWO regular bottles of the wine). The amount of glasses it holds is dependent of the size of the glass (a flute is typical for champagne). Cedric seemed the type who would buy this for a celebratory toast. The bottle is as I described above with the white gold label and the large diamond on every bottle. I, of course, have never had an opportunity to taste the champagne (not much of a drinker in any case, even had I known someone who could afford it), but did a little research to find the description of its taste (light and fruity). **

**Cedric's estimated personal worth runs to $438 million dollars. A mere drop in the bucket compared to Bruce's billions . . .**


	57. Aftermath

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

Dick watched a very dangerous man slam the door behind him as he left the room and hopefully the house. He moved to follow him. Dick needed to know where he was on the estate, but the sound of a chair scraping drew his attention. He turned back to see Elle sitting heavily in her chair. She was shaking so hard it was visible from a distance. Dick glanced back at the door before moving back to Elle's side.

He knelt beside her chair as she reached for her flute and the remaining champagne. He was a little worried that she'd drop it until she grabbed the glass with both hands. She drank what was left, but fumbled the flute as she went to set it down. Dick caught it deftly and returned it safely to the table.

"Are you okay?"

Elle's sudden laughter was so out of place after the drama of the dinner that Dick started.

"Why," she asked him. "Don't I look alright to you?"

The bitterness in her voice was unlike anything he had ever heard from her before. She leaned forward and picked up what was left of her dessert wine, and brought the glass to her lips. Neither spoke as she finished off the wine.

"They never listen to me," she muttered. "No one ever listens to me."

Dick took the glass from her and set it next to her flute.

"I'm supposed to have this fantastically influential voice, but no one ever hears one damned word I have to say." Elle looked at him finally; the terrible sadness etched into her face. "I don't even have the luxury of being invisible. If I were invisible, I would be able to come and go about my life the way I please."

"No one gets to choose their family, Elle," he told her. "We get what we're given and make the best of it."

"You did," she said; a tiny frown of consideration on her face as she studied him, her head tilted to the side.

"What?"

"You chose Bruce, the same way he chose you," she clarified. "I'm fairly certain he would have left you to your own devices had you insisted."

Dick's face was startled, but the dining room faded from his sight briefly as memories invaded his mind. She was right, of course. Bruce never forced himself on Dick. In fact, when the entire world seemed to be pulling and shoving him in all directions at once, Bruce had merely stood there with his hand extended; the calm amidst the raging storm his life had abruptly become. Of course, Dick had chosen him. He had _run_ to him!

He smiled for the first time in his life at the traumatic memory. Bruce had been an island of peace and safety in an ocean of confusion, horror, and loneliness. He might have lost himself forever had it not been for the man who would eventually become his father in the eyes of the law. But Bruce had become that in Dick's heart much faster than the paperwork had allowed. Years faster.

Dick returned to the present to find Elle smiling gently at him. She stretched out a hand; running it through his hair. She traced his ear and his jaw, making him lean into her touch. The love she had for him replaced the earlier bitterness, if not also the exhaustion that came from traversing the minefield this dinner had represented.

How did she do that, he wondered? How did she draw herself out of her own problems in order to remind him of all he had to feel thankful for? As uncomfortable as this evening had been, the peace and joy Elle brought to his life was still there. Amazing . . . he thought. She was amazing.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He blinked. "For what? I've been next to worthless this evening."

"For coming with me," she said softly. "For being here with me still. For not allowing my family to scare you off. For reminding me that there is a world outside of this house." She sighed. "Just being here, you've made this night tolerable."

Her face puckered as if she might break down at any moment. "W-without you, I . . . I don't know what I would have done; what might have happened." A tear escaped to slide down her cheek.

Dick put his hand up and caught the errant drop.

"Elle," he began. How did he ask this? "Has your brother . . . Has Aiden ever . . . hurt you?"

Her gaze flew to his and then away; dropping down and to the left. One of the classic tells of a lie . . . Gritting his teeth, Dick made a fist. He should have just hit the man.

"He has," he said, already knowing the answer.

"No," she told him quietly.

He winced at the lie. "You don't have to protect him, Elle. You can tell me the truth."

She jerked her face up; anger blazing in her eyes. "No! I said, no! You stay away from him, Dick! I will handle my brother."

She jumped to her feet. Giving in to impulse, Elle grabbed her wine glass and threw the costly crystal at the fireplace. The fire flared at the drops of alcohol still present as the delicate crystal shattered into a thousand pieces. She ran.

Dick stood up to run after her, but stopped himself after a few steps. He focused a moment on what he felt from her and determined that _this_ time, Elle actually _wanted_ to be alone. Sighing, he moved back to the table and headed for the outrageously expensive bottle of champagne; picking up Elle's flute along the way.

The bottle was more full than not. He poured himself a glass, draining it much as Elle had moments ago. He didn't know if it truly deserved its price tag, but he could admit that it was some damned good champagne.

"Excuse me, sir."

Dick looked over to find Franklin standing just inside the doorway. "Everyone is gone, Franklin," Dick announced unnecessarily; considering the obvious fact that he was the only one left in the room.

"They have all run away, apparently. You must come and join me. There is no sense in wasting two million dollars like this. Have you ever tasted this stuff?" Dick asked this as he poured himself another glass.

"I just wanted to let you know, sir, that Master Aiden has yet to leave the premises." The butler met Dick's eyes.

There was no reason for him to come to Dick with this bit of information other than he was worried over what the brother might do while he remained. Dick set the flute down.

"I don't suppose you have any idea where Elle might have run off to," he asked as he moved toward the door.

"She most often retreats to the pool room, sir," Franklin informed him.

"And how do I get there from here?"

"Take a right as you exit the room, and take the stairs at the end of the hall."

Dick paused beside the man. "Is Edward or Hugh here?"

Franklin shook his head regretfully. "Master Cedric had given them work in the city. Had they been here, I would not have bothered you."

He placed his hand on the elder man's shoulder. "Informing me when Elle needs help is never bothering me. Thank you."

"No, sir. Thank you," Franklin said as Dick ran out the door. The servant sighed in relief. "Thank God for you."

* * *

Dick ran down the stairs and turned the corner. The hallway was long and somewhat narrow; one side of it was covered in long windows that gave views of the indoor pool. Beside one of the windows stood Aiden. The man was tall and imposing, and currently looming over Elle. She had her face down and turned away from him, but her anger and fear were clear to him. He couldn't hear their whispered conversation from here.

Gritting his teeth, his hands clenched, Dick stalked up the hall. If he touched her . . . Dick didn't finish the thought because he didn't know how that conflict would end. He forced himself to swallow some of his anger. Someone needed to have some measure of control. He was a cop. If he wanted to still be a cop by morning, he needed to get his shit together.

"Get away from her," he growled.

Aiden stepped back with his hands in the air. The smirk on his face slid away at the expression on Dick's.

"This is a family matter," the man said.

His smile was more like a snarl as Dick answered with a surprising amount of satisfaction. "I _**am**_ family."

Aiden's eyes narrowed. "A sibling matter, then. It is nothing to you."

"Anything that concerns Elle, concerns me," Dick clarified. "Chicago is calling. I suggest you not disappoint her."

"This isn't over," Aiden announced loudly; obviously talking to his sister although his eyes never left the predator in front of him. "Tomorrow," he said, although he made it sound like a threat.

Hamilton brushed passed Dick as he made his way towards the stairs. Dick turned to watch him go even as he walked backwards to reach Elle. As her brother disappeared around the corner, Dick stopped beside her.

He looked at her pale face and cursed.

"What did he say to you?" Dick asked her softly.

At her silence, he turned more fully to her and placed his hands on her upper arms.

"Elle, please," he begged, hating the rift that had developed. "Did he hurt you? Touch you in anyway?" Anything that would give him the right to rip into that bastard?

She still wouldn't look at him.

"Don't shut me out, baby. I can feel you, remember?" he tapped his chest. "Right here."

She leaned her head against him and sighed.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't antagonize him."

"Elle . . ."

"No, Dick," she cut him off. "He's my brother. I will deal with him myself. It has always been between us. It will end that way, too."

"What good is this damned bond if you won't let me protect you?"

Elle pointed down the hall. "Out there," she said calmly. "You protect me from what's out there. I'll handle what's in here."

Despite her calm, he could feel her emotions beating at his chest. They were anything but calm. "Sweetheart . . ."

"I am a _strong_ woman," she suddenly barked at him; stamping her foot for emphasis. "I am _not_ a child! You will respect me in this, Dick Grayson, or you can go back to Bludhaven tonight."

Dick blinked. He knew better than to point out any similarities in her outburst to a tantrum. He wasn't a stupid man. She was too upset to take it in any way but a bad one. She still wouldn't look him in the eye, but continued to stare at his chest. She was stiff with tension. He hated seeing her like this. This wasn't the Elle he knew. Was it wrong of him to want the other Elle back?

He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. After a few moments of hugging a damned stick, her tension suddenly melted and she returned his embrace. Instinctively, he began to rock her gently back and forth.

"It's over," he reminded her.

And as if that reminder was all she needed, Elle clutched at him and suddenly sobbed.

His normal empathy apparently wasn't enough. Elle's emotions crashed into him, and it was all he could do to remain standing against it.

_Damn them_! _Damn them for doing this to her_!

"Sh, sh, it's over now," he crooned against her hair. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you. Everything will work out, sweetheart. You'll see . . ."

For long, long minutes she cried against his shirt. Finally, she pulled back. Dick didn't want to release her, but she reached up to her shoulders as if she were going to hug herself. It was a little surprising when she pushed the top of her dress down.

"Wh-what are you doing," he asked, curiously. He glanced up the hallway, but no one appeared.

She stepped out of the dress, allowing it to puddle on the floor. She didn't stop at her underwear this time, however. When she was nude, she walked to the door to the pool; pausing only to glance back at him, and then she was gone. Through the window, he watched her dive into the water and disappear from his sight.

Maybe they would be able to salvage the evening, after all, he thought to himself. He kind of wished he had brought the last of the Gout de Diamants with him and a couple of flutes. But it was probably better not to drink and swim, he smirked, tugging at his tie. Shrugging out of his jacket, he left the two articles of clothing behind as he moved to follow his bondmate into the pool room.

* * *

The hallway was deserted and quiet except for the muted sounds of splashing and the occasional echo of distant laughter.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**


	58. The Hamilton Christmas Gala Event

**Warning: Some Mild Language . . .**

* * *

Apparently the Hamilton Industries' Annual Christmas Gala was one of the big events of the year in Chicago. It had been some years since Dick was subjected to this many flashbulbs. In the early years, right after Bruce had taken him in, Dick was the target of the paparazzi and photographers would climb all over themselves and others for just one shot of him. It used to scare him.

Later, however, while Dick was always a source of interest for photographers, the limelight eventually reverted back to its rightful place with Bruce, the subject of choice. Although, showboat that he was, Dick wasn't completely adverse to the attention, he preferred to remain background fodder. Tonight, he sighed, he contented himself with sharing the spotlight with Elle.

She was a regular celebrity here in the Windy City; her entire family being wealthy and eligible. Since she had disappeared from view with her move to Bludhaven, her reemergence at the company's premier event had flashbulbs going off at a phenomenal rate, and Dick's presence at her side ramped up the press' curiosity from captivating interest to a rabid fascination. It was a good thing he didn't suffer from PTSD or epilepsy.

The whispers and speculations were rampant. He had been recognized. A Wayne, by way of adoption, and with the vivacious and reclusive Hamilton daughter on his arm, was gossip fodder of the best kind. It wasn't the first time that the couple had garnered attention. The mention of Halloween could be heard if one leant an ear. Over two months together . . . It was practically a betrothal in the eyes of the rich and famous.

His lips quirked at the thought.

And they _did_ look like a couple tonight. Dick was done up right in his best tuxedo with the addition of the formal Hamilton plaid in the form of a cummerbund. _No one_ would miss the connotations of that little detail. He matched Elle to perfection. But why anyone would want to see him when Elle was dressed to the nines beat the heck out of him. She was the epitome of grace and beauty this evening.

Her dark-brown hair was swept up in a simple but classic chignon decorated with a sprig of holly. Her gown was breathtaking; a shape-hugging vision of black velvet. It was a sleeveless sheath with a deeply-scooped neck and a plunging back. At the center of her waist at the back of her gown was a luxurious A-line insert made of the same Hamilton plaid in flowing layers of chiffon. It was elegance itself, and quite frankly made Dick's mouth water . . . And with a slight downturn of his lips, he admitted probably every other man's as well.

He took a step closer to her and slid a possessive hand about her waist. Elle merely glanced at him, smiling, and turned back to the conversation she was having with one of several of the city's political figures who were invited to join in the festivities. She introduced him to several people, many of whom were high ranking officers in her father's company. All of them greeted him with interest and all of them hinted to the fact that they, too, were hoping she would join the family business.

All said and done, it was only twenty minutes before the festivities for the two of them ended, and Aiden Hamilton walked through the entrance. Flashbulbs went off in another frenzy as the dashing millionaire entered with a supermodel on his arm. Dick had seen her pictures around and knew she went by just one name; much like celebrities such as Madonna, Cher, Prince . . . but he couldn't remember what name that was. Blonde like Elle's brother, Dick thought she seemed a little washed out in her white gown.

Aiden made a splash with the Scottish flair added to his own tux. The black jacket had square, silver button accents turned on their bias paired with a matching vest over a white, tuxedo dress shirt and a green tie. What caught and held the eye of nearly every woman in the room was the formal green Hamilton tartan kilt that brushed the tops of his knees. Over his left shoulder hung a matching plaid that was attached over his heart with a large brooch with the Hamilton crest. He boasted knees socks and dress shoes.

Dick's expression ran skeptical despite the bevy of sighs from the female guests around the room.

"I bet _you_ would look incredibly sexy in a kilt," Elle whispered in his ear.

That was all it took to rid him of the look of indigestion and put a grin on his face. He glanced at her, amused. "Do you think?"

Her pink tongue touched the edge of her deep-red lips. "You have the knees for it," she assured him.

"You wouldn't get a very good view of my ass," he reminded her.

"Oh, I don't know," she teased. "One good, stiff breeze and I might have an even better view of your ass than you might think. Particularly if you follow Scottish tradition . . ."

Dick tilted his head in confusion, a half smile quirking the edge of his mouth on one side. "Scottish tradition? Is it as fascinating as your Italian family legend?"

Elle gazed at him wide-eyed and innocent. "You don't know what a Scottish man wears under his kilt?"

He shook his head. "I can't say that I do, no."

Elle smiled, leaned up and bit his earlobe as she whispered. "Nothing."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked a bit startled, whether by her action or her information, no one could know. Elle laughed at his expression and moved away from the cameras. Dick followed her; his fascination with her making him helpless not to.

They stop by a corner window and look out over the view. They could see the lights of the John Hancock building and the city skyline from there. Lake Michigan stretched out into the darkness on their right. She leaned back against him. Even with heels, Dick could still rest his chin on the top of her head; not that he'd do it now, mind you! She would kill him if he messed up her hair at the start of the party. But the thought of her temper made him grin.

She saw the grin flash in their reflection and she turned slightly with a suspicious look on her face.

"Just what is that smile for," she questioned him.

He grinned down at her innocently. "Just happy to be here," he said.

"Hm . . ."

"And feeling extremely lucky that I am Romani and not Scottish. It is far too cold to go Scotsman au natural in this weather," he added as he returned his gaze onto the glorious Chicago skyline. "Brr . . ."

Elle laughed at his dramatic shiver, and the tension inside him that arose at the entry of her brother eased somewhat. If she wasn't worried about Aiden; why should he? Dick sighed. Because he recognized signs of an unstable personality, that was why. He tried to imagine Elle having to deal with the man on a regular basis and had to suppress a shudder. He wanted to understand the reasons behind Aiden's irrational hatred, but she continued to refuse to talk about it.

"So, are you going to tell me what the plans are for the evening?" He was really hoping for a night of dancing and hors d'oeurves, a little schmoozing and pressing of hands, and nothing more.

"Aiden and I will say a few words to start the party off officially and then we will have to dance together once," she said, staring off into the distance pensively.

"No." Dick shook his head. "I don't want you dancing with him."

She glanced up with a slight frown. "It's tradition. I would dance with Poppa usually, but many times I would dance with both of them. With Poppa not here, it is expected."

"I thought you spent winters in Italy," he countered.

"Yes, and normally I would be on a plane the day after tomorrow, but I plan to spend the holiday here . . . With you." She touched his lips with her fingers, looking up at him seductively through her eyelashes.

"It's not going to work," he announced.

Elle blinked. "What's not going to work?"

"You . . . trying to distract me," he told her. "It's not going to work. I don't want him dancing with you. I don't want him touching you. I don't even want him to speak to you."

Elle frowned and stepped back to better face him. "That's a lot of don'ts," she commented slowly.

"Elle, that man . . ." How the hell did he say this? He started to run his hand through his hair in frustration, but Elle caught his hand and held it in both of hers.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That man . . . What? Finish your thought."

He glanced around them to make certain that no one would overhear him. He pushed her a little closer to the window; holding her upper arms in his hands, he leaned his face close to hers. He didn't want to hurt her by rubbing her nose in this extremely uncomfortable knowledge.

"He . . . He hates you, baby. I could see it in his face last night," Dick murmured softly. "I don't understand why, though."

Elle stared at him with an odd expression on her face. Her lips turned up into a hesitant smile. "Dick, do you think that I am so simple that I wouldn't realize that? Sweetheart, I've known that my brother hated me from as far back as I can remember."

"But _why_?" he burst out. He caught himself and schooled his features to be pleasant.

"I'm sure that I don't know all of the reasons, but the one that I am most familiar with is who I am." Elle shrugged. At Dick's obvious confusion, she continued. "I am his father and Esmeralda's daughter. I am Arabella Loren Hamilton. I was born and I exist."

"What?"

"Mostly though, I think it is because I am Esmeralda's daughter." Elle smiled sadly. "It really doesn't extend much further than that. Poppa has done his best to compound the problem by pitting us against each other in his affections, but since the day begins and ends with Esmeralda's daughter, Aiden takes it personally and has the tendency to hold grudges."

"That makes no sense! None of that is your fault," Dick declared.

Elle sighed. She had obviously come to terms with this a long time ago. "It makes sense to him."

"That's an even better reason to keep you away from him. _Let's go_," he told her suddenly. "Let's leave and we can go home to Bludhaven or we can stay at a hotel here and go home tomorrow. You're choice. But let's just go. Right now!"

"I promised Poppa," she explained to him. "And I have an obligation to the stockholders to stay and put up a good front. We can't allow them to go home shaken about the state of the company. Poppa's illness has become common knowledge, and their scared, so Aiden and I have to show them that the company is still in good hands."

Dick stared at her. "You don't even want the company!"

"Sh," Elle frowned at him, shushing him. "Don't say that here."

"What are you doing? Tell me what the hell is going on here," he begged. "Use small words to make certain I can understand."

Elle snorted. "You're being ridiculous."

"Yesterday, I watched you declare that you wanted nothing to do with the family business," Dick whispered. "I heard you beg your father to give it all to your brother. I held you in my arms as you cried over the fact that no one listens to you." He took her hands in his. "Well, _**I**_ listened to you. And now, when I am offering to take you away from all of this, you tell me you want to stay and help the business. Darling, you need to make up my mind for me because I don't know what the hell to think at this point."

"A lot of people are employed by Hamilton Industries. Were I to storm out of here; hell, even if I were to stay but refuse to stand by Aiden or dance with him; I run the risk of scaring the stockholders into selling. The stock drops, the company suffers economically, and people – good people, Dick – get laid off. I can prevent that by staying and smiling for a couple of hours; by standing by Aiden and letting him spin me around the dance floor a few times."

Dick sighed. "And you need to do this basically because you are a good person with a conscience."

"Yeah, basically." Elle agreed with that assessment. "I'd feel really bad if people lost their jobs in this economy because I was throwing what amounts to a temper tantrum. I can figure out what to do about everything else on Monday."

A smattering of clapping caught their attention, and the couple turned to look at the small platform set up at the other end of the ballroom.

Elle gave Dick's hand a squeeze.

"Showtime," she said as she pasted on a cheerful smile, and began making her way to the other side of the room; drawing Dick along with her.

* * *

He followed because he simply could not remain behind. If he couldn't stop her from being near her brother, then he would stand near enough to guard against him should he lose it on her like he did the night before. Nothing Elle said would make him believe that Aiden hadn't stalked around that table in order to physically harm her. He knew the man had hurt her before and Elle was lying for him, although he still didn't understand why she would protect him.

He was a cop. He knew domestic cases were the worst because family members would lie and defend their own attacker more often than not; wives would defend abusive husbands, children would defend abusive parents. He would never have pegged Elle as one who would do that, but he was learning all kinds of new things about her. He knew she was forgiving, but he was a little worried he would need to save her from herself.

He watched the two siblings meet on the small stage. They could have gone into show business, Dick found himself thinking. They laughed and smiled and spoke words of encouragement and hope for the New Year. They talked a little about the future of the company and where it was headed. They spoke of new beginnings and then spouted a number of platitudes about helping our fellow man and giving back to the community.

Elle announced they would be opening a new after-school center that would have people that would not only watch over their employees children, but tutor them in their subjects as well. Aiden spoke of donating a new wing to one of the local hospital especially for pediatrics. And then as soon as the brother and sister wished their guests a Merry Christmas, the live music began and Aiden led Elle out onto the dance floor.

Dick gritted his teeth as he watch them. He stood by unable to stop Elle from stepping into the arms of a man who should have loved her, but instead seemed to despise her. That he was her brother only made his frustration that much greater.

Dick glanced around him, interested in knowing who among these people could see beneath the act. People smiled and toasted and chatted as they watched the siblings waltz around the floor. No one noticed . . . Except_ her_. The blonde that had come on the arm of Aiden Hamilton. She knew . . .

Now that Dick knew, it was so obvious.

He stepped over to her and introduced himself. "Hello. My name is Richard," he told her.

Her blue eyes were as pale and as washed out as the rest of her, but she had the bone structure that the camera loved. She glanced up at him without any real interest.

"I'm with him," she said, nodding in Aiden's direction. _European accent, hm_.

"What a coincidence," he injected smoothly. "I'm with her," and tilted his head at Elle.

That caught her attention. She turned to face him. "The Wayne," she asked, blonde eyebrow lifting.

"_A_ Wayne. Grayson-Wayne to be exact," he clarified.

Her lips quirked up. "Ah, yes. I had heard that about all of you Wayne boys."

Now his eyebrow rose in curiosity.

She shrugged and turned to watch the dance again. "That none of you are the genuine article."

His mouth dropped open in spite of himself. _Ouch_! "Well, only in the case of the eldest three. My youngest brother is considered to be quite genuine. But I can assure you that I am most definitely real."

She smirked at him.

"Are you not going to tell me _your_ name?" He smiled charmingly in the face of her surprise.

"Y-You do not recognize me?"

"Should I?" _Score 1 – Grayson_! _Can you feel the burn_?

"Tatiana," she said, looking at him in earnest now.

"Tatiana . . . What? You don't have a last name?" He was being bad now, but Dick refused to feel guilty. He was doing this for the honor of all the hyphenated Wayne boys, after all.

She opened her mouth and then closed it, staring at him.

He stared back politely.

"No," she said, finally. "I don't."

"No?" Dick's eyebrow rose a little higher. "That seems a shame. Everybody needs family."

"_I _have_ family_," She snapped, getting a little annoyed with him.

"Ah, I meant family you are proud of," he smirked back at her. "For instance, I have two; hence the hyphen."

She huffed at him. "You've made your point."

_Grayson – Score 2_! He fought back the urge to smirk again. One per person was enough.

The dance continued. Dick usually didn't mind the length of waltzes. At least, he didn't until this evening. This particular one had gone on for nearly ten minutes, and he knew that it would last another ten easily. Elle was staring at her brother's brooch, it looked like. Her smile seemed strained.

Dick focused on her emotions. He was getting better at this, he thought. Elle was . . . nervous, he thought; a little upset. It could just be her brother's proximity, but, Dick narrowed his eyes as the couple swung past, it could just as easily be whatever he was saying to her.

He couldn't take another ten minutes of this; stockholders be damned! He turned to Tatiana.

"May I have this dance," he asked, bowing over her hand in an elegant and gentlemanly fashion. Thank you, Alfred . . .

Tatiana glanced at him and then back at the spinning couple still on the floor.

"Aiden said the first dance always went to the Hamiltons," she said, confused.

"Interestingly enough," Dick replied, "I happen to be wearing the Hamilton plaid." He indicated his cummerbund. He touched his hand to the small bit of tartan with a smaller version of the brooch that Hamilton wore that was pinned to her shoulder like a damned corsage. "And so, apparently, are you."

She looked down at the bit of plaid that Aiden had given to her earlier that evening. It was like he was marking her as might a dog would, she had thought at the time. She ran her fingers over the ancient pin lightly. He had said that the small brooch had belonged to his father's mother; given to her on her wedding day by his grandfather.

The smile she gave Dick this time was genuine; the real thing!

"I'd be delighted," she told him, and Dick immediately swung her out onto the dance floor with the intent of catching up with Elle and her brother.

* * *

It took almost two full rotations, but as they pulled adjacent to the other couple in the dance, Dick reached over and removed Elle's hand from Aiden's shoulder. He pulled her away and gently pushed Tatiana into the other man's arms. He drew Elle into his arms and continued the waltz, but with more enthusiasm since he now had the dance partner of his choice. All of this he accomplished without missing a step; without losing the rhythm of the music.

Elle's eyes were wide, but lit with amusement. Her smile was even brighter for a moment before pursing her lips in annoyance.

"What are you doing," she attempted to scold him for his brazenness.

He grinned at her; feeling the tension draining from her from under his hands. Her annoyance with him was a total forgery as a wave of happiness washed over him.

"Saving you from yourself," his eyes softened. "Have I told you this evening how breathtakingly beautiful you are?"

Her lips twitched. "Not in _those_ words, no."

"If you don't care for those, I have more," he promised her.

"Do you," she asked, teasingly.

"Words like, I love you," he leaned down and whispered them close to the corner of her mouth.

The amusement slid away, and Elle turned her head the slightest degree so that her lips brushed his own.

"Do you?" She repeated.

"More than life itself," he assured her; his breath mingling with the cinnamon scent of hers. She always seemed to smell and taste like cinnamon . . . His favorite flavor.

* * *

If they were asked later, neither would be able to tell which of them moved that last inch first, but the space was closed and they slowed to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. Elle's arms twined about his neck; one of her hands tugging his head down to hers. Dick's arms wrapped around her waist; one hand against the skin of her upper back as their kiss burst into one of passion. The dance; the place; the crowd itself forgotten.

Flashbulbs burst into an array of dazzling profusion. Murmurs and laughter went unnoticed for several long minutes as the music dwindled away. It wasn't until the party's two hundred and fifty guests began clapping enthusiastically that reality reinserted itself and the two pulled apart.

Elle blushed and looked dazed, but her happiness was there for everyone to see. She was embarrassed only in that she had forgotten herself completely . . . Never by him, though. She grinned and held up a hand to wave to the newly-wild paparazzi; her other hand slipping down into Dick's.

She smiled up at him; her bond mate. He was amazing . . . Turning what surely could have easily become a terrible night into a precious memory.

"Hey," she called out above the applause.

"Hey, what?" he glanced down at her; happy, but curious.

"I love you, too," she said.

"Do you," he asked, teasingly.

"More than life itself," she assured him.

"Merry Christmas," Dick wished her.

Elle smiled. "It will be now."

"So, can we please go home now?"

Elle laughed. "I think maybe we can."

They walked off of the dance floor, Dick's arm slipping around her waist possessively; protectively.

Neither of them noticed the glare that bore into their backs with deep-seated malevolence. And neither did the spellbound paparazzi that turned away from the current, if temporary, CEO of Hamilton Industries to follow their newest front page story to the elevator.

* * *

**REACTIONS? Please?**


	59. Tabloid Speculations

**This is a companion piece to Last Chance. It covers the reactions to four people who are hearing of Dick and Elle's relationship for the first time. Originally, I had it as its own story, but thought it would be more effective right here. *This is supposed to be chapter 59, but it takes a while for the change to show up where it is supposed to be. _It is NOT supposed to be chapter 100, so if you see it there, imagine it is between 58 and 60._ Takes about 30 minutes to accomplish, apparently.***

****The Wally West in this story is not the same Wally West of the YJ universe. This is pre-52 Wally who is married to Linda Parks-West and has twins.****

*****Barbara Gordon's history with Dick Grayson is a part of MY AU. How closely this follows canon is only lightly . . . *****

**Warning: Strong Language (Jason's reaction)**

* * *

**CLARK'S REACTION:**

Clark walked into the bullpen to a ruckus over in the area that covered the Daily Planet's society section. It wasn't something that he was interested in unless he could occasionally get something on Bruce that he could tease the other man over. Bruce was nearly as stoic as his alter-ego, The Batman, but that didn't stop Clark from trying to get a reaction of some sort from him,

He moved to his desk, setting down his overcoat over the back of his chair. He had forgotten to put it on again that morning; carrying it from his and Lois' apartment over his arm the entire trip here. He shivered; attempting to appear cold. If Lois was not on assignment, she would have reminded him. He hadn't been this feather-brained before marrying, and yet whenever Lois was traveling, he would inevitably do something airheaded like forgetting to wear his coat in the middle of a snowstorm.

He brushed the melting snow off of his shoulders and hair. He moved to sit down, and the noise in the society section rose once more in fervor. He was beginning to get a little curious. Seldom did they get this worked up without an out of wedlock pregnancy or adultery scandal or Bruce Wayne found himself a new girlfriend.

Hm . . . Maybe he _should_ go over and have a look.

He decided to listen in instead.

"Oh my goodness, did he grow up nicely!"

"She's divine as well. I think Brady said he met her once at some charity dinner. Said she was a real sweetheart, sharp as a tack, and had a voice like a song."

"Well, _he_ is definitely scrumptious! Does anyone know what he's doing now?"

"I don't know. He kind of fell off the radar for the past few years. Would only show up once in a while at his old man's request."

Clark began unpacking his briefcase; losing interest. This didn't sound like Bruce . . .

"I think I remember reading something about them in the paper a couple of months back."

"Both of them? Have they been together that long?"

"From Halloween. That shootout on the bridge between Gotham and Bludhaven. It made the papers in Chicago because of her."

_Gotham_? That caught his attention again. He craned his neck to look over the partition, but couldn't see anything of interest with everyone gathered around. Clark glanced around him, and then slipped off his glasses on the pretense of cleaning them and allowed his X-ray vision do the rest.

"Well, we need to see what we can dig up on the couple. She's an heiress to millions and he's an heir to billions."

"What does it matter to us? This is Metropolis; not Gotham or Chicago."

Looking through a half dozen partitions and at least three bodies, Clark caught his first glimpse of the newspaper everyone was ogling. The front page of the Chicago Tribune . . .

_A Match Made In Fort Knox_? Clark frowned at the headline. Everyone knew the government no longer kept gold in Fort Knox, but still, he supposed, people would still associate the fort with big money.

_Money_ Can _Buy You Love_ . . . The headline declared from the Chicago Herald. What the hell?

Finally, someone was holding a copy of the Gotham Gazette. _Rags To Riches To Riches: Is Wayne's Heir To Marry?_

What?!

Clark jumped to his feet in his shock; knocking his chair back with such force the partition behind him tipped and nearly collapsed the entire row of cubicles at his back. He grabbed the errant half-wall, only to punch his fingers through the fabric covered particle board.

Hiding his movements as best he could, Clark shoved the partition back into place. He had somehow snapped the connections. He held up the section and, with a glance around for privacy, he released a small, measured burst of heat vision; welding the temporary structure into place. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain that to anyone. With luck, no one would notice it for years. The working environment of the Daily Planet wasn't in danger of getting a makeover any time soon.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Clark moved to join the crowd.

As he came up to the nearest person with a paper, Clark asked, "What's going on?"

The woman handed him a copy of the Tribune. There in astounding color was a man and woman staring into each other's eyes in the middle of what looked like a dance floor.

"Bruce Wayne's adopted son, Richard, is apparently very chummy with Chicago Magnet, Cedric Hamilton's daughter," she told him.

The fellow to his left handed him a copy of the Gotham Gazette. "Very chummy, it looks like," he said, laughing.

Clark saw a small collection of photos on the left side of the page showing a very young, extremely-traumatized, Dick Grayson standing outside of a circus tent with the police and Bruce hovering nearby. Beneath it was a picture of a Dick in his high school graduation cap and gown. There was a slightly larger picture of Dick fresh out of the police academy in his dress blues. However, it was the large picture to the right that caught and held Clark's attention.

Dick at a fancy society party kissing a young woman in the middle of the dance floor! An extremely _intent_ kiss, he thought, by the looks of it. This was apparently more than a normal 'date'. Bruce taught Dick better than to make a spectacle out of himself while at these parties.

Not that Bruce was the pillar of exemplary behavior, considering his playboy status, but enough to not create long-lasting scandals that could affect his status on the police force!

"May I borrow this?"

"Sure, we have a dozen copies of the Gazette over here," the fellow on his left said.

Clark was already heading back to his desk. Bruce had likely already been dragged from bed and shown this by Alfred. He would give him a call and see what the low-down was on this. He would have to keep his voice down so that the others wouldn't realize his connection to Bruce. He'd never get anything done if he had to field requests for interviews for the crime-fighting billionaire.

Clark glanced at the newspaper again as he dialed the number by memory. It was a very chummy kiss, he decided, and thought that from the bit he could see, they appeared a very handsome couple. His eyes scanned the article and he sat back in his chair, smiling as the phone began to ring. Dick had definitely grown up, he thought warmly, as he remembered the tiny bundle of constant energy the young man had been the first time Clark had been privileged to meet him; able to topple full-grown men with his acrobatics and specialized martial arts techniques that Bruce had helped him create.

Dick and the young woman looked good together. He thought of the depression Dick had suffered through after Barbara Gordon had dumped him. He hoped, for Dick's sake, that this woman would not only satisfy his requirements, but remain loyal to him. Gotham and Bludhaven were no picnics at the park. Dick needed to find someone who could love him with the same passion that he carried around in him.

This young woman looked like she just might fit the bill . . .

"Wayne residence . . ."

"Alfred," Clark belted out, gleefully. "Is Bruce there? Let me talk to him, if you would, please!"

"I take it you've seen the papers, sir?"

"Indeed, I have! Indeed, I have," Clark smiled into the phone. "Drag him out of his cave and hand him the phone. I'm wondering if congratulations are in order."

"Very good, Master Kent. It should only take a moment."

Clark propped his feet up on his desk. He should call Lois after this, he thought as his eyes were drawn once again to the picture of that passionate kiss. Better yet, maybe he would fly over to see her personally. He glanced out at the winter sun peeking through the clouds.

It was going to be a beautiful day . . .

* * *

**WALLY'S REACTION:**

Wally West stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep, but even stumbling it didn't take him more than seconds to get downstairs and find his chair at the kitchen table. Linda smiled and kissed the top of his head as she poured him a cup of coffee.

"Breakfast is coming right up," she told him. "Why don't you read the paper while you wait? There was some interesting news, I noticed, happening in Chicago that made it into the Chronicle."

"Hm," Wally hummed. He wasn't doing anything before inhaling a cup of coffee.

"Section D," Linda called out over her shoulder as she shoveled a pound of sausage from the skillet to a plate. "Page one . . . Top of the page."

"Coffee," Wally mumbled. "More coffee." But he opened one eye and glared at the Central City Chronicle where it lay where his breakfast was supposed to go.

Linda poured him more coffee, tossing in several spoonful's of sugar to get her oddly, slow-moving husband going this morning. She tapped the paper several times with her finger, before moving back to the stove.

"There's a great picture with the article," she told him, conversationally. "Full color spread. They really pulled all the stops out for this one."

She took out the eight pieces of toast from the two four-slotted toasters and added them to the sausages, before flipping the pancakes that were on the griddle.

After his second cup, Wally could finally open his eyes enough to contemplate the newspaper that his wife kept harassing him about. Linda took a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator and a bowl of diced melons and set them on the table with a bottle of maple syrup. She paused long enough to pull section D out from the other sections. She set it back in front of him and took the rest of the newspaper back with her to the counter.

Wally frowned. "Seriously? This is the society section!"

"Quit complaining and open it up! Read the headline! You'll be glad you did," she laughed at him.

Placing the dozen pancakes on a separate plate. She turned the temperature down on the griddle and began to crack eggs. Wally preferred eighteen of them with his breakfast. She picked up the sausages, the toast, and the pancakes for her husband to start on.

She would normally be snapping at his stubbornness by this time, Wally thought. There must be something really worthwhile for her to be this insistent and yet still this happy about it.

"I want to cut it out later, so try not to get syrup or grease on the paper, please!"

Wally picked up a sausage to munch on as he opened the folded paper and spread it out.

_A Merger Made In Heaven?_

What was this? Wally's eyes went straight to the photos. Two photos were posted. One of a couple kissing hot and heavy on a dance floor and the other . . . Holy Crap! That was Dick! And some other woman. His gaze flew to the subtitles beneath the pictures. _Adopted heir to the Wayne fortune in a serious romance with Chicago tycoon's reclusive daughter_.

He returned to the picture of Dick smiling happily at the dark-haired beauty by his side. _Happily_ . . . He could see it even in the picture. _Dick was happy_! And the woman was returning his gaze with a look of adoration.

Wally smiled. "Go for it, buddy," he said softly. "You deserve it."

Linda set his eggs down in front of him.

"You know," she said, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her face against the side of his. "He called yesterday afternoon. You were gone and you didn't get back until so late, I decided to wait until this morning to tell you about it."

"Dick called? Why didn't you tell me as soon as I got up?" Wally asked this around a mouthful of eggs.

Linda made a face and pushed his mouth closed with one hand. She moved around to sit beside him and poured herself a glass of juice.

"Because first of all, you probably wouldn't have heard a thing I said until your second cup of coffee, and secondly, I saw the article," she took a sip of juice. "I thought it would make better sense if you saw the photos first and then told you his request."

"Request?" Wally remembered his manners belatedly and struggled to swallow. He took a swig of his coffee. "What request?"

"He asked if we could come to Bludhaven next Friday night," she told him.

Wally frowned. "Did he say why?"

If he needed help for a bust, why was he inviting Linda to come with him?

"For dinner and a show, he said."

"He's inviting us to go on a double date, do you think?" Wally mused.

Linda smiled. "Something like that."

"Do you think he wants us to meet this woman he's seeing?" Wally picked up the paper and scanned the page for a name. "Arabella Hamilton?"

Linda hopped back up at the sound of crying. The twins were awake. She set down her glass and kissed Wally on top of his ginger hair.

"I'll ask my parents to babysit," she said moving towards the stairs.

Wally grinned as he spread the paper out so that he could better read the article while he ate. He glanced again at the two pictures of the couple.

_A brunette_ . . . Wally nodded sagely, remembering the advice he had given Dick a few months back. _Good job, dude_, he thought with a whistle. _You did good_.

* * *

**JASON'S REACTION:**

Jason Peter Todd rolled out of bed and glanced blearily at the clock.

God! Twelve-thirty? He hadn't crawled into bed until seven a.m.! Five and a half hours of sleep. He'd be good if he had gotten any sleep at all in the past three days! As it was, he still felt disconnected from his body. He stumbled to the front door and picked up the three newspapers that had been collecting there since Thursday last. He might have picked them up when he came home, except he had entered his apartment through the window in his bathroom that morning.

He yawned and scratched his bare stomach as he glanced around the hallway outside his front door. He was wearing only a pair of boxers that had seen better days. He really needed to do laundry. He rubbed a hand over his scrubby face. _And shave_, he thought.

"Definitely need a shave," he mumbled to himself.

The door across the hall opened and Mrs. Maldini stepped out before she saw him there. She caught a look at him and yelped, scampering back into her apartment and slamming the door. Jason might have been offended if he didn't know her to be eighty-two years old. Although he had done nothing to instill this fear into her, Mrs. Maldini always yelped and slammed her door at the sight of him; dressed or undressed, it didn't matter.

"Good morning, Mrs. Maldini," he called after her.

There was an answering thump against the door that indicated he had startled her. He laughed, and walked back into his apartment; kicking the door closed with his heel. He tossed the newspapers on the table and walked into the kitchen for something to drink.

Jason pulled out a bottle of milk. Yawning again, he set it on the table and turned away to wash a glass. Unfortunately, the bottle tipped and fell over; cracking the neck. Milk began to pour out all over the table and run off onto the floor.

"Damn it," he yelped, leaping back out of the way to keep his feet dry.

He tossed a hand towel onto the mess, but it wasn't up to the job. He looked around the kitchen frantically, only to discover that he had run out of paper towels.

"Well, shit. Fuck this," he muttered and grabbed the newspapers in hopes of soaking up some of the mess.

Jason knelt, cursing again when his knee landed in the milk. He began spreading out the papers over the growing puddle. Damn, he should have started with the table first, as the milk continue to dribble off the side and add to the problem on the floor. He stood up and spread the last couple of sections of the paper on the table.

He was standing there in a daze, watching as the paper turned dark gray as it grew wet when the name Wayne caught his eye. He jerked the section up in hopes of salvaging enough to understand what he was reading.

_Rags to Riches to Riches: Is Wayne Heir To Marry?_

What the . . .? He couldn't think of a word foul enough. The photo layout drew his attention. Holy . . . _Fuck_! That was _Dick_! Most of the pictures plastered over the front of the paper he had seen before. How the hell did they get Dick's graduation photo?

Never mind, he thought. Most of those shown were public record anyway, but damn, that was disturbing what the press could get ahold of and print. His eyes moved over to the two largest and newest pictures. These he hadn't seen before.

Dick and a beautiful brunette . . . How the hell did he always manage to do it? Jason bet that bastard never had a date with a bowser in his life. He had, of course, although it was usually the result of drinking liquids better equipped for cleaning the crud off of car batteries than helping him to forget . . . He sighed. To just forget.

The other photo was . . . Wow! Okay. Get a room, dude! Bruce was probably having a cow, right about now. Wonder how much Bruce would have to spend to get Dickiebird out of this mess. He looked back at the first photo of the two of them facing the camera, and pursed his lips.

_They don't look drunk_, he thought wonderingly. In fact, they looked pretty into one another to him. His gaze was drawn inexorably back to the kiss. Yup! They couldn't get much more into one another without becoming X-rated in the process.

Jason pulled a dry chair out and sat down. Actually, Dickiebird looks pretty darned happy, he thought. He began to wonder if maybe the tabloids had something with this headline, after all. He shook his head. Nah! This was Dick they were talking about. The man was a player and didn't even realize it. Women were always throwing themselves at him. This chick was probably the current flavor of the month.

His cellphone buzzed. Shaking the milk off of that section of the paper, Jason tossed it over his couch, as he picked up his cellphone. It got a little milky, too, but he didn't think it would hurt it. It wasn't as if he had dropped it into the toilet again. He checked the caller ID and blinked in surprise.

_Speak of the devil_ . . .

"Hey, Dick . . . I was just thinking about you," Jason answered casually, like he and his 'brother' chatted it up all the time.

They didn't. Jason hadn't spoken to Dick in months and even then they had both been lucky to walk away from that conversation without assistance. "So, what's new with you?"

Jason listened to what Dick was asking him. He knew what his answer to his 'brother's' question would be, but just to mess with him, determined to let the other man spend a little time trying to convince him.

"You want me to do _what_?"

* * *

**BARBARA'S REACTION:**

Barbara Gordon was busy. She had research to do on three cases that had to be completed yesterday! As such, her attention was focused into a narrow beam of what she needed to know and what could wait until later. If all went well for one of her cases, she knew that Batman would be able to bring the men in responsible for transporting illegal drugs into Gotham City. She knew there were still shipments coming into Gotham from at least four other suppliers, but this one would go down.

If she worked it correctly, she might even be able to track those drugs down to the source, and that could stop the drugs from this particular supplier from reaching, not only Gotham, but other cities across the U.S. as well. She was working with contacts within the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Agency, and ICE, the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, in their narcotics enforcement task force that specializes in shutting down smuggling rings.

This affected Gotham, but was also much bigger than Gotham.

So, it was a surprise when her phone rang and she looked up at the clock. It was already two in the afternoon. Breakfast today had been a bagel that she had eaten at the computer, and apparently she had worked through lunch as well. Her stomach, as if suddenly aware of its neglect now that she knew the time, protested loudly as she picked up the call.

"Babs? How you doing, sweetheart."

Pressing speaker, Barbara laid the phone in her lap as she wheeled herself into the kitchen. She smiled at the caller even though he couldn't see her. It didn't matter, however, since it was a fact that people could tell whether or not you were smiling through the sound of your voice.

"Hi, Dad," she grinned. "Just grabbing a late lunch. Work's real heavy right now, but I have a promising lead that, if it pans out and I think it will, should make your job a little easier for a while."

"Now, _there's_ some news I'm delighted to hear," Jim Gordon's voice came through so well, it was almost like he was in the room with her.

Barbara frowned. There was something in her dad's voice and the words he chose . . .

"As opposed to news that you didn't want to hear," she asked. "What's up, dad? Why do I get the feeling that you're calling me for a reason?"

Jim's sigh came through loud and clear.

"Have you seen the paper today?"

Barbara blinked. "No. I had a lot of work, so I didn't take time to read it. Is it bad news?"

"Depends on what you would define as bad, I suppose. You might not even care," he told her.

"Why don't you just tell me what it is and save me the trouble of looking," Barbara suggested, pulling out the makings of a sandwich and transferring them to the cutting board on her counter.

But she had already located the neatly-folded and neglected newspaper on her kitchen table. She ignored it in favor of her sandwich. Any bad news would still be there when she was finished eating. If it the news were bad enough, reading it first might steal away her appetite. Better to eat first, she decided.

"By this time, I'm pretty sure it's even on the television," he murmured.

"Dad, what's going on? Did someone _die_," she asked frustrated. Her dad never worked so hard at beating a bush.

"No! No, nothing like that," he was quick to assure her. "In fact, depending on how you look at it, it might even be considered _good_ news."

Babs set down the knife and grabbed the hand towel. She could hardly ignore that cryptic bit of information.

"So, it might be good news or it might be bad news, depending on how I decide to look at it," she said as she wheeled herself over to the table and the fateful newspaper.

She unfolded it and glanced at the headline. Something about the new mayor's plan once he took office, she read. The Riddler's botched escape. The East Side was experiencing sewer backup.

None of that fit the bill as either good news or bad news unless you were the Riddler or living on the East Side, and none of that directly affected _her_. As far as Gotham news went, it was a pretty uneventful day.

"I'm looking at the paper now, Dad, but I don't see what it is you're referring to."

"I'm actually surprised it isn't front page news," he said. "All considering. That only tells me that the headline itself is unverifiable and unsubstantiated. I could be calling you over nothing . . . except that . . ." his voice trailed off.

"Except that . . .?" Barbara encouraged. "Where is it located, Dad? I could at least narrow it down to the right section."

"There are pictures," he said. "The pictures make for a pretty good story."

"Dad . . ."

"Society section. You'll see it right away," her father told her.

Society section? Confused now, she dropped away all the sections back on the table that weren't what she wanted. Armed with the correct section, she shook it out and . . . Gasped.

"What . . .?" If her voice came out a little weak, it could be forgiven her. The headlines were somewhat dramatic.

_Is Wayne Heir to Marry?_

Dick's face stared back at her from the paper. She recognized three of the pictures used, having seen them so many times before. Her eyes slid to the two new photos; pictures taken . . . last night? Dick was gazing adoringly at a pretty brunette in it; both of them dressed for a formal affair.

Dick hates tuxes, was the first coherent thought that crossed her mind.

"Barbara, are you okay?" Her father's voice sounded concerned.

"I'll have to call you back, Dad," she said. "Don't worry, though. I'll be fine."

Barbara stared at the photograph. It was a really good picture, she thought. He looked good in it . . . No, she corrected herself; he looked great. He _looked_ really fantastic. She hadn't seen him in so long that her eyes were greedy for the sight of him. But then attraction had never been the issue, had it?

Reluctantly, she looked at the woman on his arm now. She was pretty. No, she was more than pretty. She was a lot shorter than Barbara. Babs winced. Well, not so much anymore, but when she could stand, Barbara was five foot eleven. She'd been able to look most men in the eye, and was even taller than Dick himself by a full inch. This woman barely reached Dick's shoulder and Barbara had to assume she was wearing heels under that gown. She was curvier as well . . .

Oh, what was she doing? Why was she comparing herself to this other woman? It wasn't like she and Dick had any plans to get back together, and really, it had been her idea to break it off in the first place. The problems they had had as a couple were still relevant.

Thinking about the breakup was still a little painful though. Dick had sought her out and pursued her almost relentlessly for the first three months, until she had been cruel. Then they had avoided each other like the plague. She had heard from various sources that Dick had fallen into a depression after that. While it was wrong of her to wish him ill, it had been a bit flattering that he took their breakup so hard. But obviously not so hard that he was willing to fix the problems that she thought needed fixing before she would have allowed them to move on to the next level.

Her eyes drifted to the second photo and she winced again. That kiss looked . . . It looked like something one saw at the end of a fairy tale movie, when Prince Charming saves the Princess with true love's kiss. The woman, Babs searched the article for a name, Arabella Hamilton, looked to be just as taken with Dick as he was with her.

No, it would have never have worked out for the two of them, she thought. They had tried so many times and so many times it had ended, only for them to dig the romance back out of mothballs a few months or a year later. It would be great for a little while and then the arguments would return and then the whole thing would repeat itself; like a bad remake of 'Groundhog's Day', but without the laugh track or the hope of ever getting it right.

She stared at the couple in the picture once more. Her Dad was right. The paparazzi were assuming a lot from these two photos, but she could see where the idea might have come from. They certainly looked happy together, she thought. _He_ looked happy . . . Happier than he had ever been with _her_, if she were honest; and Barbara was always brutally honest with herself.

She tucked the paper in beside her and returned to making her sandwich. The tiny twinge in the vicinity of her heart was easy to ignore. The rumble of her stomach, not so much.

Dick deserved to be happy.

And _she_ was happy for him. Really, she was.

Now, if she could just manage the feat in her own life.

She picked up the sandwich and rolled back to her computer. She hesitated for only a moment, and then picked up the forgotten phone in her lap. Barbara was nothing if not decisive. She dialed her contact at the DEA and waited impatiently for him to answer.

"Lowell, here."

"Agent Lowell, this is Oracle."

"Oracle," he said. Barbara could hear the smile in his voice. "What a pleasant surprise! What have you got for me today?"

"A hot tip," she replied easily.

"Well, let's hear it," the agent said. "Go on; I'm ready for you?"

Barbara smiled. "Are you really? Well, set down your pen and pick up your car keys."

"This sounds interesting." And it must have, because it came through loud and clear over the phone. His smile sounded like it had gotten wider. "Where am I going?"

"A little restaurant called The Wharf. Ever heard of it?"

"I have. They have great clam chowder there."

"I'll meet you there in an hour with that hot tip I promised you," Babs grinned.

"Sounds like a plan," Lowell agreed. "How will I know you?"

"Don't worry," Barbara told him; dropping the society section in the garbage can by her desk. "I'll know you."

* * *

**YOUR REACTIONS? Choose your favorite or remark on all four!**

**Remember this is my universe. It is not meant to be canon for all you purists out there . . . Of course, if you are a purist, you probably never made it this far to begin with. ;D**


	60. Metropolis-Picture Perfect Moment

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

Christmas shopping in Metropolis . . . Dick led Elle through the jam-packed streets and carried her bags for her. He supposed this was his job in this relationship. He met the understanding gazes of several other men who were well-versed in what responsibilities the man was to hold in a normal relationship when it came to shopping. Empathy for their fellow husbands and boyfriends was abundant this holiday season.

"I don't understand why we couldn't do this in Bludhaven or Gotham," he asked for the fifth time. "Most of these stores are chains. They carry the same items."

Elle gave him a look that he preferred not to interpret. "We aren't going to just those stores though. There are a couple of smaller family-owned businesses near here that I want to go to," she told him. "Besides there is a sub shop that has the best Philly-cheese steaks outside of Philly just around the corner."

"I'm surprised you didn't want to run to Philly to get one that was authentic," Dick commented.

"I would have, had we the time," she came back with a grin.

"So, have you been here often?" Dick asked.

"No, not often," Elle said. "I came a few times with a friend and her family. And the swim meet that I had my first allergic reaction was held here." She glanced up at him. "I'm way too familiar with Metropolis General Hospital. Edward and Hugh brought me a couple of times when I asked."

They rounded the corner and Elle stopped by a little jewelry store. The bell tinkled as they walked in. Dick glanced around with him with a growing sense of wonder. This wasn't your normal, run-of-the-mill jewelers. Its shelves were laden with beautiful and unique items.

Elle stopped by a shelving unit that had small telescopes on display. She picked up a wonderfully crafted brass one and held it up toward the late morning sun that shone through the large display windows. She twisted it as if focusing it on something. Dick looked out to see what had caught her interest, but couldn't pinpoint anything in particular.

"What are you looking at," he asked finally.

She handed it to him without a word. Curiously, Dick turned toward the window and held the device up to his eye, and gasped with surprise.

"This isn't a telescope," he announced. He continued to look through its lens' piece with fascination.

"No," Elle confirmed. "It is a kaleidoscope. The owner here designs them himself. Each is totally unique. I have yet to find one that exists anywhere in the world that compare with his."

"It's beautiful," Dick smiled as the glorious patterns and colors shifted with every movement.

"He has several kinds. My favorite are the stained glass kaleidoscopes," she said as she made her way around the store.

A small, elderly man of Japanese descent made his way out of the back and entered the showroom. His eyes almost disappeared when he spotted Elle and grinned in absolute delight.

"Miss Arabella, you have come to grace my humble shop once again," he greeted her enthusiastically. "Are you ready to purchase another of my kaleidoscopes? I have several new ones that are quite beautiful. I think you will like very much."

"Mr. Nagata, you get more handsome each time I see you," Elle flattered him, teasingly. "And yes, I have come for another kaleidoscope, but not for me this time. It is to be a gift."

"Oh yes, 'tis the season," Mr. Nagata agreed. "Have you seen the ones on display?"

"I have, and they are lovely." Elle assured him, as they returned to the display. She waved at Dick, who was still enjoying the original kaleidoscope Elle had handed him. "Mr. Nagata, I want you to meet someone very important to me."

Dick lowered the scope reluctantly, and turned with a smile to the shop's owner. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nagata. Your work is stunning. Absolutely beautiful."

Nagata bowed deeply to Dick. "Ah, you have found a man of wisdom and an appreciation of the finer things in life."

Elle laughed. "This is Dick Grayson-Wayne . . ."

Nagata's eyes widened. "Ooh, the young man from the newspaper article! Oh, now I see," he nodded sagely. "I understand."

Elle looked a little startled at his recognition, but smiled in spite of her blush. "Ah, yes. That's the one."

Although they had been expecting some kind of write-up in the society section of the newspaper, neither had been expecting the kind of press that they had been getting. It appeared that the pictures and speculations were going national. Neither Elle nor Dick had ever experienced that level of notoriety before. When they were recognized, which had been happening more and more often over the last couple of days, it still surprised them.

Elle attempted to get back to the matter at hand. "Mr. Nagata, I was also interested in something else I had seen here on occasion."

"And what is that, my dear," Nagata asked her. "Do you see it here? If not, I still have many things of interest in the back."

"Really? Well, let me explain to you what exactly I am looking for," she said, leading him away toward a different area.

Dick replaced the kaleidoscope and picked up another and proceeded to entertain himself while Elle finished up her shopping.

* * *

"So, did you find what you were looking for," Dick asked her as they stepped back out onto the busy sidewalk.

"I did," she smiled, holding up a package. "I purchased something else, but some adjustments needed to be done to it. He will be shipping it to Bludhaven in a couple of days."

He had noticed Elle slipping into the back to look at Mr. Nagata's other things of interest, but had been content to remain where he was. The showroom had many cases of jewelry, but, like Elle, he had been fascinated by the kaleidoscopes, hand-carved wooden statues, unusual and yet beautiful items from around the world. All were hand-crafted and unique; all were made of quality material.

"Where would you like to go next," he asked.

"Food," Elle declared. She took the lead at that point, heading off into the direction of the sub shop she had mentioned earlier.

They were only halfway to the corner when a clamor went up across the street. Alarms went off and pedestrians scattered in all directions.

"What's happening," Elle gasped, wide-eyed.

Dick moved in between Elle and the disturbance; pushing her farther from it. "Bank Robbery," he told her.

Her head whipped around. "Are you going to . . .?"

"No," he answered, a bit harshly. "_You're_ my priority right now."

Elle frowned at him. "But . . ."

"And this is Metropolis, after all," he finished with a quirk of his lips. "I wouldn't even get the chance to find a place to change."

"What? I don't understand."

At that moment, several men came running out of the building, shooting into the crowds. Screams went up and suddenly Elle and Dick were being pushed and pummeled as Christmas shoppers ran for their lives. Dick grabbed Elle and shoved her down behind a sidewalk newspaper kiosk and threw himself over top of her. Bullets thumped into the wooden sides of the kiosk and several piles of newspapers seemed to explode into confetti that rained down over them.

"Dick!" She gasped, terror on her face. "Are you . . .?"

"I'm fine," he answered. "Stay _down_!"

Dick pushed himself up and peeked around the edge of the kiosk. "Where the hell is he? If he went off-planet, I'm going to be pissed," Dick grumbled.

Elle squeaked, when a man fell down near them, obviously struck by a stray bullet.

Dick was preparing to run into the building beside them and change into his costume when a familiar red and blue blur slammed down into the hood of the crooks getaway car.

"About time," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief. He turned to reassure Elle, but didn't see her.

Panic slammed into him as he spun around looking for her. He spotted her almost immediately. She had crawled out to the fallen man and was tugging at his coat to better see his injury. There was still bullets flying about, however, and Dick scrambled out to her; dragging her back to the relative safety of the kiosk. When she would have protested, he cut her off.

"_Stay put _this time," he barked at her. "I'll get him."

Dick ran back to the man. Grasping his coat, Dick pulled him back to their hiding place. Elle moved beside him and began assessing the man's injury. She whipped off her scarf. Folding it, she used it to stem the flow of blood from the hole in the fellow's shoulder. Dick moved over; darting a look around a pile of newspapers. The men had been apprehended and the danger appeared to be over.

He moved back over to her; glancing down at the man she had risked her life to save. "How is he?"

She raised hopeful eyes. "He should be okay once he gets proper treatment."

Dick ran a hand through his hair, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Don't _ever_ do that again!"

"What do you mean," she asked. She leaned over the man in order to increase the applied pressure.

"Look at me," he snapped. When her startled brown eyes met his angry blue ones, he growled. "You exposed yourself to a hail of bullets by rushing out there after him."

"But he was just right there and he was hurt," Elle stammered. "How could I simply leave him lying there like that?"

Sirens from police and ambulances alike roared into the area, forcing Dick to raise his voice.

"Endangering yourself isn't the way to do it! If you'd have been shot, then who would have been there to help him?"

Elle bit her lip. "Um . . . You?"

Dick glared at her. "I wouldn't have stepped over_ you_ to help _him_. You do no one any good by becoming a victim yourself."

He felt like an asshole when her eyes filled with tears. Elle ducked her head, attempting to return her attention to the man beneath her, but Dick saw the tears that dripped onto the man's coat. The material soaked up the drops immediately. He sighed. This wasn't the way this trip was supposed to go.

Dick jumped up and waved down a paramedic. He glanced around and discovered that only two other people had been struck by the hail of bullets earlier. Miraculous when one thought about it. There had been a damned lot of flying metal out there a few minutes ago.

Elle moved out of the way when the paramedics moved in to take over the man's care. Dick was there to help her to her feet. He looked her over, but despite being thrown to the ground by him, she was physically none the worse for wear. Emotionally . . . Yeah, well, that was probably more his fault.

He tugged her around the back side of the kiosk and pointed. Elle's eyes widened in shock. The kiosk had been hit by . . . She tried to count the holes, but there were just too many. He waved an arm at the buildings behind them. Broken glass littered the sidewalk and the bricks had new chips and more than a few holes in them.

"Oh," the word leaked out from between her lips weakly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Oh."

Dick pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm not mad," he reassured her. "You just scared me . . . _Again_." He pulled back enough to look at her. "You've got to quit doing that. You will be the death of me long before one of these bozos have the chance to do the job."

"Okay," she whispered.

Elle turned to look at the action happening across the street from them. Her breath caught and she boggled.

"Is – Is that . . ." her voice trailed off.

Dick grinned. "Yup! The big red and blue himself. Bruce calls him the Boy Scout."

People were coming out of the buildings and stores around them to watch the proceedings. Several clapped and cheered. Superman turned and waved to the crowd. Elle's eyes widened, and she turned to Dick, excitement emanating from every pore and her earlier upset completely forgotten.

"I want a picture!"

"What?" Dick frowned at her.

She ran back to their packages and rummaged for her handbag. She dug into it and pulled out her cellphone. Dick followed at a more sedate pace and began to gather the bags as his girlfriend rushed back to the street in order to take pictures of his 'Uncle Clark'. He tried not to grin as he thought what her expression would be upon learning his honorary relationship with Superman.

As he made his way to her side in the midst of the growing crowd, Elle was happily snapping pictures of the powerful alien. She turned to show him some of the pictures.

"Look! Awesome, right?" She was completely delighted.

They weren't bad, he thought.

"Wait," she gasped and stared at him.

Dick blinked. "What is it?"

"Y-You know him, don't you," she asked in a whisper.

Dick didn't answer her, but he smiled as he raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

She gasped again, reading him correctly.

"I want a picture with him," she said suddenly.

"You just got some," he reminded her, tapping the edge of her phone.

"Not like _these_," she grinned.

Her mind was working. He could see it working. What was she thinking and why was he getting nervous?

Superman was apparently just finishing up with the police. He was turning to leave when Elle raised her arm and yelled. She didn't have to yell, of course, but it was all apart of the act.

"Superman! Superman! Yoo-hoo! Superman," she hollered over the low roar of the still-growing crowd around them.

Dick grabbed her arm and hissed in her ear. "What are you doing? You're going to give it away that I know him!"

She looked at him incredulously. "How the heck would asking him for a photo op do that?"

"I can't be seen being chummy with the man while I'm a civilian," he explained. "People might wonder; put two and two together."

Elle laughed. "Of course they won't. People don't go around thinking 'I wonder if that guy is Nightwing because he's getting his picture taken with Superman'." She whispered back at him. "Most people are too caught up in their own lives to give it a second thought. It's all in how you present it, anyway. Watch," she challenged. "People will only believe I am some ditzy tourist."

* * *

Clark recognized Dick immediately. He recognized the woman he was whispering to emphatically a second later from the newspaper photos from a couple of days ago. He was curious. Dick was usually too cautious to draw attention to himself by acknowledging another superhero while dressed as a civilian.

"Superman!" The woman, he remembered her name to be Arabella Hamilton, waved at him.

He wished he was here as Clark Kent. He would love to know more about the young couple. Bruce hadn't told him much of anything; claiming that while yes, Dick was dating again, if he wanted Clark to know about it, Dick would call him up and tell him personally. So, other than confirming that the couple were indeed dating, he was still just as in the dark as the society reporters at the Planet.

He walked over to the crowd and approached the couple.

"May I help you?" Superman asked innocently.

He was a little surprised to see Arabella bounce up and down on her toes. He had gotten the impression that she was an elegant and intelligent young woman from the article, but the woman in front of him seemed almost like one of those superhero groupies.

Dick was gaping at the two of them. It was, Clark had to admit, rather amusing to see.

"I was wondering if we . . ." She indicated the two of them; waving her hand around excitedly. "could get a picture with you. Please? I mean, if you aren't in too big of a hurry?"

Clark glanced over at Dick to see his reaction to the request. The young man was blushing to the roots of his hair. Clark bit down on the sudden urge to laugh.

Acting on impulse, Superman agreed. "I don't see why not. I think I might be able to spare a few minutes."

Dick groaned. Arabella was grinning like a loon. Clark had to bite the inside of his jaw. The woman's happiness was contagious and honestly, he was enjoying Dick's discomfort way too much.

Arabella turned to the woman next to her that was goggling at him in awe, and spun her around. She shoved her cellphone into the other woman's hands.

"Here," she told her. "Take our picture, please?"

The second woman nodded numbly. Arabella grabbed Dick's jacket and pulled him to one side of Clark. She leapt to his other side.

"Okay," she grinned at the camera. But before the woman could snap the picture, Arabella held up a hand and yelled. "Stop! Wait! Don't take it yet!"

Dick leaned forward to frown at her from around him. "What are you doing? Just let the woman take our picture already! I'm sure that Superman has more important things to do than take a dozen pictures with the tourists."

Arabella leaned forward to scold him in return. "I hope you plan to smile for this," she hissed. "It's not like we're going to get another opportunity to get a picture with the real-life Man of Steel."

Dick opened his mouth and then closed it again without saying a word.

"What seems to be the problem," Superman asked politely.

Arabella caught her lip in her teeth as she grinned madly at him. "You are, like, super strong, right? Hence the name _Super_man . . ."

He smiled. "That's correct."

* * *

Elle glanced over at Dick and Clark could practically see him begging her to not do whatever she was thinking of, but even if her boyfriend was Superman's friend, she couldn't pass up the chance to get the ultimate photo shot. Dick loved her. He would forgive her for this and laugh about it later when they could enjoy the photo at their leisure.

She looked back up at Superman. "Then it would be nothing at all to you to let me sit on your bicep for the picture, would it," she asked almost shyly.

He blinked at her. "Uh . . ." He glanced at Dick again. Dick was looking up at the sky as if beseeching the heavens to take pity on him, but Elle could see amusement in Superman's eyes at Dick's predicament. "I don't think that would be a problem," he said, cautiously.

She clapped her hands together, delighted.

When Superman kneeled down, Elle stepped on his thigh and hopped on his extended arm; grasping his forearm and head to get her balance. She, then, removed her hand from his head and even patted his hair into place again where she had messed it up.

"Sorry," she giggled nervously.

When he started to stand up again, she stopped him.

"Wait!"

Dick facepalmed.

Elle ignored him, determined to get the picture she wanted.

"Superman, would you mind terribly if my boyfriend climbed onto your other arm?"

"Elle," Dick hissed at her.

Superman glanced between the two of them again; the grin was slowly creeping onto his face involuntarily.

"Since you asked so sweetly, how could I say no," he said. "It's perfectly okay by me," he told Dick.

"I . . . Uh, would just as soon stay down here," Dick stammered.

"Oh, come on, Dick. Please," she begged. "Don't be a party-pooper! He said it was fine. And seriously, it isn't exactly like he would be overwhelmed by the two of us. He _**is**_ Superman!"

"Elle . . ." he began.

"Oh, for God's sake, Dick, just loosen up and climb on board," she snapped at him.

Superman swallowed his laughter and tried to smile reassuringly at Dick. He switched his stance so that Dick could also use his thigh to climb up. "I don't mind," he told him.

* * *

Dick glared at the two of them, but then after a moment he realized he was holding the whole thing up and making a bigger spectacle in refusing than Elle did with her ridiculous requests. Huffing in exasperation, Dick stopped protesting and clambered up; positioning himself on the Man of Steel's left arm. As soon as he was settled, Superman stood up carefully so as not to dislodge the two people perched on his arms like a couple of freaking pigeons.

The woman holding Elle's phone boggled at the sight. So, apparently were several others, although many were laughing and enjoying the show. The woman lifted the phone in preparation of taking the picture.

"_Wait_!"

Dick looked at Elle from over Clark's head, incredulously.

"What _now_?" He didn't mean to raise his voice. He cleared his throat. "Sorry," he apologized, lowering his voice. "What is it, now?"

Elle tipped her head down a bit so she could look Clark in the eye. "Um, would it be a horrible imposition if you, you know, like hovered above the ground a bit?" She grinned sweetly at the hero.

Dick didn't have to see at Clark's face to know he was just seconds from laughing outright, and that, more than anything, made Dick relax. The hero was actually enjoying himself as Elle somehow charmed the red underpants off of the man with her outrageous requests and absurdly perky demeanor.

He didn't even feel them rising; only noticed that the ground beneath them was retreating. Clark rose up about ten feet above the ground.

"Is this all right," he asked her so politely, but Dick knew by the strain in his voice that the Man of Steel was struggling now.

"This is absolutely . . ." she pause for effect, "_super_! Take the picture now, please," she called down.

_**SNAP**_! _**SNAP**_!

The pictures were taken, and Dick would see later that while both he and Elle had been grinning madly, Superman had been caught with his head back, laughing at Elle's terrible pun.

Dick gathered up their purchases from the pavement; no one having the nerve to swipe them right from under Superman's red boots while Elle retrieved her phone from the woman she had enlisted to help. Seeing everyone's attention was elsewhere for a moment, Dick whispered to Superman, knowing he would hear him.

"Thank you for indulging her," Dick said softly under his breath. "If you and Lois aren't busy this coming Friday, how about coming to Bludhaven for dinner and a show? Nearly everyone will be there. Show up at eight, and dinner's on me. And plan to stay for the show later. It's going to be a big hit, I think."

He looked over his shoulder as Superman rose up into the sky, on his way either back to the Daily Planet or perhaps to some catastrophe or other. Clark gave him a nod and a salute that could have been meant for everyone present, but Dick knew was for him personally.

"I'll call you with the details later," he said, turning back to the business at hand. He smiled. His plans were moving along nicely.

Dick watched Elle and the woman laughing at the pictures she had gotten. He couldn't wait to see them as well, shaking his head in disbelief. Apparently, even Superman wasn't immune to Elle's charm.

* * *

Clark flew over the city, back towards the Daily Planet. He wanted to check with Lois about their plans. Dick invited him and Lois to a dinner. That didn't happen every day. In fact, this was the first time the young man had invited him someplace other than Wayne Manor.

If they had something else planned, Clark determined to cancel it in favor of Dick's dinner and show. His reporter's instinct telling him that this was something special that he wouldn't want to miss.

His initial reaction was that Arabella Hamilton, or Elle as Dick had called her, was a bit airheaded, but now he wasn't so sure. He had the idea that there had been a secret conversation going on between the couple, and everything he knew of Dick told him he wouldn't have the patience for a long-term relationship with someone without a clue. If nothing else, he decided, Arabella Hamilton was intriguing contradiction.

He made a mental note to ask Dick to see those pictures next Friday night. As he remembered the spectacle they had all made, Clark began laughing out loud again.

* * *

People looked up at the sound of laughter passing above their heads. They smiled at the Man of Steel's excellent mood.

It was a good omen, the superstitious among them thought. This year would have to be the very Merriest Christmas that Metropolis had had in a while. So, if the citizens of Metropolis seemed a little happier, a little more relaxed; had a bit more of the holiday spirit than usual, no one would have credited it to the visit of a woman, with just a hint of Siren in her blood, to their city.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Elle acting like the ditzy tourist . . .**


	61. Dinner and a Show - Part 1

**The song used here is "Bound To You" written by Christina Aguilera, Samuel Dixon, and Sia Furler for the motion picture "Burleque" on November 2010. I do not own this song in any way, but it does fit very well into the story and for Elle's voice. Thank you, Leah Tatyana Nicole for bringing it to my notice.**

****No Warnings . . .****

* * *

Dick was sitting in his regular place, but not at his regular table. The restaurant had rearranged a few tables near his to accommodate his guests. There were a few. Some of his close friends, those who could make it, and some of Elle's, those he knew and could find, and family, of course.

He was surprised when Cedric showed up with his bodyguards, and Hugh and Edward walked in right behind them. Cedric still looked terrible, but when he heard about tonight's get together and the show, he insisted on making the trip. A couple of people Dick hadn't met had accompanied him. Cedric introduced them as his physicians. The man wouldn't be able to stay long after dinner. Dick would have to see Morris about changing the schedule to accommodate the man.

Dick got up to greet Clark and Lois as soon as he saw them.

"I was hoping you two would make it," he said, shaking Clark's hand.

"I wouldn't miss it," Clark pulled Lois forward. "And when she heard, neither would she."

"Lois, it's good to see you," Dick kissed her cheek. "You are almost always out on assignment whenever I make it to Metropolis."

"Which isn't often enough. Dick, you've grown into a real charmer," she teased, looking lovely in a dark blue dress. "This place looks really nice. I didn't know Bludhaven had any nice places."

Dick laughed. "You just have to know where to look."

As Lois and Clark stepped forward, Dick was surprised by the couple behind them.

Clark chuckled. "I hope you don't mind. We brought guests."

"It was Ollie's fault," Dinah smiled as she came forward to greet her honorary nephew. "When he heard about a dinner and a show, he invited himself along. I came to keep him in line and to make sure he doesn't embarrass himself."

Oliver Queen laughed good-naturedly. "I checked this place out. It's got a five-star rating for food and service, and I hear the music is really good. I couldn't resist." He shook Dick's hand. "I hope Dinah doesn't cramp your style by showing up like this," he joked.

Dick smiled. "The more, the merrier," he said.

Robert, Chez Donovan's head waiter, appeared. "Ladies, gentlemen, if you will follow me to your table."

"Say, is Bruce really here? I didn't think he dragged himself out of his . . . office for much of anything but a world-wide cataclysm," Ollie said.

"See for yourself," Dick waved a hand, indicating his table.

The Kents and the Queens table was next to Dick's. Bruce rose smoothly to greet the two couples as they approached. The couples were even more surprised to see that the whole family was present and currently not killing each other. Although Alfred's seat was strategically placed between that of Tim and Damian.

"This place better have beer," came a familiar voice behind Dick where he still stood near the vestibule.

He spun around, already laughing. "Roy! I didn't think you could make it!"

"What choice did I have," he muttered with a smile edging his lips. "This guy practically kidnapped me and carried me here," he snorted, indicating the couple behind him.

Wally was in the process of taking Linda's coat to give to the woman manning the coat check closet.

"Snazzy place," Wally commented. "Hope the portions are good."

"I was hoping that you had eaten already," Dick teased. "Otherwise, I'll have to see Bruce about a loan." He gave Linda a peck on the cheek as he greeted her. "I haven't seen you since the twins were born. You look lovely."

"Hey! I hear you have your own woman now," Wally shoved Dick back, playfully as he took his wife's arm. "Leave mine alone, thank you very much."

To their surprise, Dick blushed. He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Saw that, did you? I can't believe it made the papers in Central City."

Roy laughed. "It made the papers everywhere! Including Starr City, which is why Ollie and Dinah came. I assume we'll be meeting her tonight."

"You will, but not until later," Dick grinned, and clarified for them. "It's kind of a surprise for her, too."

Linda gasped. "Oh, Dick, you didn't!"

"Ah, probably. What did I do wrong now?" He looked at Linda with wide-eyed innocence.

"You are going to just dump all of us on her without any warning?" Linda shook her head sadly. "You will be lucky to climb out of the doghouse by this time next year."

"Linda, she loves me. I'm pretty certain she'll forgive me before the night is over," Dick smiled.

"She must either blind or desperate," Roy joked, slapping Dick on the back.

"You'll have to judge that for yourself," Dick smirked, but felt the nervousness of earlier coming back.

"You'll have to tell me your secret," Roy grinned, "of how you are able to fool all of these beautiful women we see you with into thinking you have charm."

"I'm betting its hypnosis," Wally laughed.

Linda smacked her husband on the arm and stepped forward to grasp Dick's arm instead. "Don't you listen to them, Dick. You are a real catch. Wally's just lucky I met him first," she teased.

"Too bad Donna couldn't make it," he said, a little disappointed.

Roy patted him on the shoulder. "She wanted to, buddy. She sends her love."

"Hey! What are you moping about? You still have us," Wally grinned, moving up between his wife and his best friend.

"I thought you were supposed to be cheering him up," Roy snarked.

Dick laughed as Robert stepped up to lead his friends to their table near his. He followed them back, stopping to greet another table that had a few of Elle's college friends and their husbands. They had been difficult to arrange, but Dick had been thrilled when the three couples had arrived a little earlier.

He grabbed Robert's arm as the man moved past him.

"Have someone let me know if Jason Todd arrives," Dick instructed the man.

"Of course," Robert assured him. "He's another of your friends?"

Dick smiled. "No. Well, yes. Um, sort of . . . He's my brother."

Robert looked back at Dick's table. Every place had already been taken by members of the man's family. "I can have another table and chair brought out," he began.

"No, that's okay," Dick patted the man on the back. "It would be better, I think, to seat him at that table," he said, indicating the table with Wally and Roy. Linda would make Jason behave himself.

Robert's brow rose and a look of understanding crossed his face. "Of course. I take it," he murmured, "that you've been able to hide all of this from Elle."

"I have, and I can tell you it wasn't easy," Dick laughed. "And if you see Brian, let him know I appreciate everything he's done. He's gone all out for me."

Robert smirked. "He went all out for Elle. _You_ are still on his shit list," the waiter whispered. "Maybe if tonight works out as you planned, he'll be willing to mark you off."

Dick looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Uh . . . I'm not still on Raymond's list, am I?"

He hadn't eaten since noon, and he was starved. He could imagine everyone's dinner being exquisite, and he would get the leftovers from the previous night and the burnt portions. Dick didn't mind Brian's shit list, but dreaded remaining on the chef's.

Robert laughed outright. "No. And you may thank Elle for that. Your dinner will be excellent, I am sure."

"Make sure that Raymond sends something backstage for Elle. I don't know when she ate, and later she may not get a chance to," Dick instructed.

"He usually does," Robert assured him. "But I'm guessing that tonight it will be something a little extra special."

"She'll be wondering at her good fortune," Dick grinned. "Let me know when she arrives, also. I want to go back and wish her luck."

"And perhaps keep your little surprise a secret for a few minutes more?"

"That, too." Dick nodded. "She only knows that I'm coming for the show."

"You are risking a lot on her ability to forgive," Robert said.

"I'll take my chances," Dick laughed.

Robert excused himself to continue seating the restaurant's other guests while Dick made his way back to his table.

* * *

He kept glancing back every so often to see if any new arrivals contained Jason. He had been astonished by the younger man's agreement to show tonight. He had expected to have to promise the man favors and agree to turn a blind eye to some of his less than stellar activities, but no . . . Jason had been amazingly easy to get to accept his invitation.

"Did you expect it to be that easy," Bruce leaned over to ask after the fifth time Dick looked to the entrance.

"Nothing about Jason is easy," he admitted. "But he did say that he would show up."

"Perhaps something caught his attention," Bruce said. "He may just be running late."

Dick frowned. Jason was a lot of things, but he wasn't a man to break his word. "You don't think he's in trouble, do you? That maybe something happened to prevent him from coming?"

"Dick, whatever you are thinking, stop right now." Bruce chided. "It took a lot of time and effort to arrange this tonight. You will not leave in the middle of it. If Jason doesn't show by the time Elle's show begins, I'll go look for him."

Dick sighed. "No, I don't want you going after him. I want you here."

"What good does it do if I remain and you leave?"

"Just . . . stay. I wanted him here, but I want you here more. And I'd be more disappointed if both of you were gone." Dick slumped.

Bruce slapped Dick on the shoulder. "And you're supposed to be happy tonight," he reminded him. "Damian's been on his best behavior. That's got to count for something!"

Dick glanced over in his youngest brother's direction. "That's right! He hasn't tried to kill Tim once tonight. Although Alfred is there, I kind of expected him to at least attempt to stab him with his fork at some point."

Bruce smiled. "He's been more mellow than usual at home as well."

"Mellow?" Dick couldn't imagine.

"Alright, less intense as of late," Bruce's smile widened.

"Are you talking about us," Damian asked, looking at them suspiciously.

"About how handsome and well-mannered you both are tonight," Alfred added jovially.

Damian rolled his eyes, but kept his sarcasm to himself, for which everyone was grateful.

"How is the meal, Alfred," Dick asked. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"It is quite excellent," the elder man exclaimed. "And the service is more than adequate."

High praise, indeed. Dick made a note to send his compliments to the chef. Perhaps if Raymond knew how difficult it was to impress Alfred, his pleasure would extend to Dick himself. But it was as Robert had promised. Dick's meal was as delicious as everyone else's tonight.

It had been far more difficult to talk Alfred into attending. He had had to divulge his plans to the butler in order to get him to disregard the impropriety of a servant attending his employer's event as a guest. Dick had sworn the man to secrecy and knew that not even Batman would be able to tear the information from him, but Bruce, being Bruce, probably already knew everything there was to know about tonight anyway.

* * *

Dick excused himself to go greet Elle.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show tonight." he teased, kissing her carefully so as not to smudge her make-up. "Any trouble getting here?"

"Not a bit. The cab driver was a pro. I had a little last minute shopping I wanted to get done before I came," she explained, putting away her coat. "It took a little longer than expected. Did you eat?"

"I did, and it was wonderful. Thanks for smoothing things over with Raymond." Dick patted his flat belly.

Elle lifted the top of the warming tray and nearly groaned. "Too bad I don't have time to do this justice. I need to hurry up and change," she said, as she stuffed a bite of chicken cacciatore into her mouth.

"I'll see you out front," Dick smiled. "Break a leg."

"Thanks," she said around a mouthful of chicken, already digging through her gowns for something suitable. She had a beautiful song planned and wanted to look special. Dick hadn't heard her sing this one yet and she was excited about it.

* * *

The meal had nearly concluded, when Daniel, their waiter leaned over Dick's shoulder. "Mr. Todd has arrived."

Dick spun around in his chair. Jason was standing at the back wearing a button-down shirt with a tie and jacket over a pair of black jeans and his biker's boots. He didn't realize that Jason even owned a tie or a jacket that wasn't made of leather. Dick was suitably impressed. He had expected Jason to show up in his motorcycle jacket with bulges under his arms for his guns. He didn't see any bulges now, however, Dick thought as he ran an expert eye over his brother. But he was sure there was something there, all the same. Dick suspected an ankle holster. Jason went nowhere unless he was armed.

He pushed back his chair and made his way over to Wally and Roy's table just as Jason was getting there.

"I was beginning to think you were going to back out of your promise," Dick said by way of greeting.

"I said I would be here, didn't I?" Jason answered.

The two men stared at one another for a long moment before Dick broke the tension by smiling and sticking his hand out to shake. Jason left him hanging for almost a solid minute before he took the proffered hand.

"I'm glad you could make it," Dick told him. "It means a lot that you could come."

Jason looked over Dick's shoulder at his table. Although Bruce sent him a hesitant smile and Alfred a warm one, he didn't acknowledge them. He looked back at Dick.

"So, where is she? I was under the impression I was coming here to meet that chick you were making out with in front of what had to be every photographer in the nation."

Dick laughed, but couldn't prevent the faint blush that stole up his cheeks over the thought of that photo.

"Did the Bat bust your chops over it?" Jason moved to sit down and Dick stole an empty chair from a nearby table to sit down next to him.

"No. Surprisingly, he didn't say much about it other than 'Nice picture of you two in the Gazette today'. And she's here. You'll be meeting her in . . ." Dick glanced at his watch. Less than five minutes until ten. "In just a few minutes."

Jason nodded to Roy and Wally. "Linda, you are looking lovely this evening. You still hanging around this bum," he joked lightly, indicating Wally.

"Hello, Jason," Linda greeted. She hadn't seen him in a few years now. "You're looking well."

He grunted.

"At least his hair is combed," Dick laughed. "Are you hungry? I think I can talk the chef into fixing you something," he offered. "I thought you knew that dinner was included when I invited you."

"I did. But I didn't want to go home hungry." He looked around the fancy restaurant. "These places don't know how to make a decent hamburger, you know?"

"Well, order yourself something to drink and enjoy the show," Dick made to get up.

"How long's this going to take? I have work tonight," Jason met Dick gaze.

"They don't close 'til two, but I was hoping you might try to hang around an hour or two. That is, if you think you can manage it." Dick told him. "Oh, and thanks again for coming."

He left Jason to get reacquainted with Roy and Wally, and made his way back over to his table. He was slipping into his seat when Brian walked out onto the stage.

"What's Todd doing here?" Damian demanded to know.

"I invited him, Dami, now hush," Dick said gently. He didn't want to get the boy riled up. "The show is getting ready to start."

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome the Chez Donovan's. I am the owner and your host, Brian Donovan. I hope you have enjoyed your evening thus far. Tonight is extra special, and your entertainment divine. Welcome to the stage, the extraordinary and talented, Arabella Hamilton!"

Dick was glancing at the other tables to gauge people's reactions. Jason was satisfyingly startled as he shot Dick a look. Wally and Linda were grinning, but Roy leaned back in his chair. He was either being one cool customer, or he did his research. Ollie and Dinah appeared startled, but Clark and Lois had apparently done their homework as well.

She looked gorgeous; almost as if she knew this night had significance. She wore a maroon and black ombre gown with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice was fitted to the hips and it had with a sweeping skirt of chiffon that skimmed the floor. Its dramatic coloring drew every eye in the house with the maroon encircling her waist and slowly morphing to black in the bodice and in the flowing skirt.

Her hair was down and styled in a vintage Hollywood starlet look; smooth, with a large, gentle waves along the bottom of the style. It was swept to the side and pinned into place with a single, rhinestone barrett; giving people a glimpse of the dangling rhinestone earrings in her ears. She looked as if she stepped out from a dream.

Elle's entrance was met with raucous applause from several of her friends, and her eyes widened is shock when she recognized them. Her smile grew larger as she waved to the audience. And her second surprise of the evening came when she turned to greet him as she usually did when he attended her show. Everyone in the family grinned back at her, and Damian even waved which Dick thought was adorable. He kept his mouth shut, however, to prevent the boy from storming out of the restaurant in a fit of embarrassment. Elle waved back.

He noted she had yet to see her father's face in the crowd, however. If she wasn't suspicious yet, she was bound to suspect something was up once she did. But the music started up immediately, and ever the performer, Elle launched into song.

Three songs in, Elle slowed the rhythm down with a change of pace from the upbeat, fun Jazz style that she was well known for to a love song made popular by pop star Christina Aguilera. As she sang, Elle walked across the stage until she stood in front of Dick's table.

_Sweet love, sweet love  
Trapped in your love  
I've opened up, unsure I can trust  
My heart and I were buried in dust  
Free me, free us  
You're all I need when I'm holding you tight  
If you walk away I will suffer tonight_.

_I found a man I can trust  
And boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can you see that I'm bound in chains?  
I've finally found my way_.

_I am bound to you  
I am bound to you_

_So much, so young, I've faced on my own  
Walls I built up became my home  
I'm strong and I'm sure there's a fire in us  
Sweet love, so pure  
I catch my breath with just one beating heart  
And I brace myself, please don't tear this apart_.

The song seemed to highlight Elle exquisite vocal control and left the audience caught up rapt in the amazing nuances of her range. He had wanted to watch the audience tonight, but as usual she held Dick spellbound and his awareness of the world around him faded until it was only his beautiful Elle singing just to him. Her emotions washed over him and he reciprocated, and the passion of her performance seemed to expand to encompass the world.

_I found a man I can trust  
And boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can't you see that I'm bound in chains?  
I've finally found my way_

I am bound to you  
I am bound to

Suddenly the moment's here  
I embrace my fears  
All that I have been carrying all these years  
Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall?  
Fall

_I can trust and boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can you see that I'm bound in chains?  
And finally found my way_

I am bound to you  
I am, ooh I am  
I'm bound to you

As the last note drifted away there was a lull as the audience attempted to catch their breath and spent a moment drawing themselves out of the spell she seemed to cast upon them. There were tears in the eyes of the women and quite a few of the men. Couples discovered that they were holding hands; not remembering reaching for one another during the performance.

After a long moment, Dick started clapping slowly; smiling at her as he rose to his feet. All around the room people began to join him as they were released from the dream Elle had woven for them with her voice. One by one until everyone was standing; everyone applauding for what was for them a magical moment in time.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**This is part one . . . There is more to come! **

**I'm so excited! ;D**


	62. Dinner and a Show - Pt 2: The Proposal

**Part Two of "Dinner and a Show" a.k.a "The Proposal"**

**No Warnings . . . (Except maybe for some tissues)**

* * *

Morris called for a break.

Elle looked at him like he was nuts! They were only four songs into the playlist! What was he doing?

"What's going on?" Elle turned off her mike.

"Problem with the sound system. Take just a moment," Morris told her. "Go see Dick and his family for ten minutes or so."

"Oh, my God, what a night for things to go wrong," she grumbled, rubbing her forehead to rid herself of the beginnings of a headache. "I just saw some of my friends in the audience that must have traveled a couple of hours to get here in order to hear me sing! Please hurry, Morris."

"It will go faster if you leave me alone to fix it," he groused. "Go say hi to your friends and leave me alone for few, okay?"

"Sure. Sure." Elle turned on her mike and explained to the audience that due to technical difficulties there would be a short break. She set the mike down and Brian helped her down the stairs.

She went straight for Dick's table. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. Even Alfred, Tim, and Damian had come to hear her sing.

Bruce eased her mind. "It happens sometimes. Don't worry about it. We're not going anywhere. You sang beautifully."

She smiled at the compliment, as she acknowledged her college girlfriends and their spouses. "Oh, I see some friends of mine I want to introduce you to, Dick. I can't believe they drove all the way to Bludhaven to hear me sing!"

Dick caught her arm. "There is someone else who came a long way to see you as well."

Elle turned and gasped. Her father was being pushed over to their table by Lazlo.

"Poppa? Oh, my God, what are you doing here? Did the doctor say it was okay for you to travel so far?" Elle bent to kiss her father's cheek even as she scolded him.

Tears glistened in the elder man's eyes. "You sing like an angel, Bella! Like an angel! Your mother would have been so proud of you. I had no idea your voice was so breath-taking! How could I have not known this?"

Elle hugged her father. He had never had the time to actually sit down and listen to her sing before. He had always told her to put away the music and work for him. She glanced up at Lazlo.

"What did his doctors say about this," she asked.

Lazlo shrugged. "Why don't you ask them? They came with him." Lazlo indicated the two gentlemen sitting at a different table. With them were Hendricks and Edward and Hugh.

"What made you come tonight of all nights?" Elle asked, frowning.

She looked back at her friends and waved. It seemed a huge coincidence that Dick's family came the same night as her father and several of her out of the area friends. Was there something going on that she was unaware of?

"I was free," he smiled slyly, his eyes drifting beyond her should to where Dick stood behind her.

She frowned, growing a little suspicious. She turned back to Dick when Robert touched Dick's elbow, drawing his attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grayson, but you have a phone call."

Dick frowned now. "I put my phone on silent earlier," he said, pulling his cell out of his pocket, and turning it to vibrate. "Did they say who was calling?"

"He identified himself with the Bludhaven Police Department," Robert told him. "Shannon didn't tell me his name."

"What?" Elle grasped his hand. "Will you be back?"

Dick sighed. "I don't know, sweetheart. It was important enough that they tracked me down, though. I could be a while."

"Oh, no," Elle pouted. She hadn't even gotten to introduce him to her friends yet.

Dick kissed her temple. "I'm sorry. I'll try to get back here before you're through. If not, have Bruce take you home."

"B-But . . ." Dick was already making his way to the front door before she could tell him to be careful.

"Come, Bella," Cedric told her. "I have yet to greet Bruce Wayne this evening."

* * *

Elle tore her eyes away from Dick's quickly retreating back, and led her father to the Wayne table. She blinked rapidly. What looked to be a wonderful evening was going all wrong! She forced a smile on her face. The show must go on, after all.

She greeted everyone individually this time; taking care to make Alfred feel especially welcome. Bruce offered her Dick's chair for the remaining time. She glanced around and saw that Morris was still fiddling with the equipment next to Steve, their soundman. There was music that was being piped in, so the people wanting to dance were still having a good time. She wondered why the canned music was fine, but the live music wasn't. If it was the connections, why were they messing with the sound board?

She sat and allowed herself to be drawn into conversation for several minutes longer, until Brian walked out on the stage again. Elle looked startled. Had she lost track of time? Were they ready to begin again?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your patience this evening and want to assure you the technical difficulties have been taken care of and the performance will go on."

Elle made to stand up, when Brian continued.

"But before our lovely Miss Hamilton comes back to the stage," he said. "We have a special guest here tonight who would like to entertain you with a song or two."

A man in a tuxedo stepped out onto the stage from behind the curtain making last minute adjustments to a wireless headset. Elle frowned. His face was turned away, but he seemed very familiar. Elle felt a flutter of nervousness and excitement wash over her. Those weren't _her_ feelings. _She_ was feeling upset and confused.

Please, give a warm welcome to Mr. Richard Grayson-Wayne!" Brian stepped back as Dick turned to face the audience.

Elle's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock.

_B-But when did he_ . . . She spun in her chair to glance behind her, and then back to the stage again. He'd only been gone for a few minutes! When did he have time to change? What was he doing?

"Is that Grayson?" Damian voice cut through the fog. "What the hell is he doing up there?"

"Shut up, Damian," Tim hushed him.

"You shut up," the boy snapped back.

The music started at that moment, and both boys fell silent.

Bruce leaned over to Alfred and whispered. "I'm not sure what I was expecting tonight, but it wasn't this."

Elle hadn't expected it either.

* * *

Dick walked over to the spot she had stood when she had serenaded him. He stepped to the edge of the stage and sat down. He was still high enough to be easily seen by all, but he was closer to her level. And then he started singing and the world for her simply . . . stopped.

I am amazed  
When I look at you  
I see you smiling back at me  
It's like all my dreams come true

I am afraid  
If I lost you girl  
I'd fall through the cracks and lose my track  
In this crazy lonely world

Sometimes it's so hard to believe  
When the nights can be so long  
And faith gave me the strength  
And kept me holding on

You are the love of my life  
And I'm so glad you found me  
You are the love of my life  
Baby put your arms around me  
I guess this is how it feels  
When you finally find something real  
My angel in the night  
You are my love  
Love of my life

She hadn't moved. She hadn't glanced away, not even once. Her elbows were on the table as she leaned forward; her hands were clutched together in front of her. During the chorus, her breath caught and tears began to fall from her lashes.

Now here you are  
With midnight closing in  
You take my hand as our shadows dance  
With moonlight on your skin

I look in your eyes  
I'm lost inside your kiss  
I think if I'd never met you  
About all the things I'd missed

Sometimes it's so hard to believe  
When a love can be so strong  
And faith gave me the strength  
And kept me holding on

There were many beautiful songs in the world. Many of those songs had touched her heart and made her long for something she had never experienced before. She had poured out her heart in many of the songs she had sung, but none had ever been sung to her. Always the songs seemed to take a little something from her; something that she shared with those that heard her.

You are the love of my life  
And I'm so glad you found me  
You are the love of my life  
Baby put your arms around me  
I guess this is how it feels  
When you finally find something real  
My angel in the night  
You are my love  
Love of my life

_This_ time, however . . . _**This time**_ the song gave back to her. _This_ time it seemed to fill her up until there was no room left inside for all of the emotions to go, and some of them had to leak from her eyes and run unhindered down her face.

You are the love of my life  
And I'm so glad you found me  
You are the love of my life  
Baby put your arms around me  
I guess this is how it feels  
When you finally find something real  
My angel in the night  
You are my love  
My angel in the night  
You are my love  
Love of my life

* * *

What a wonderful gift! Elle was laughing and weeping openly as Dick hopped to his feet. She covered her mouth with her hands as she struggled to regain her composure. She wiped uselessly at her streaming eyes, and said a little prayer of thanks for waterproof mascara.

She glanced to either side of her to find everyone, but Damian, grinning at her; even her father. Damian was glaring hard at his older brother, making Elle snort with laughter. Further away, though, it seemed as though all the women were just as weepy as she was, so she didn't feel so bad for her lack of control.

The music suddenly started playing again and Elle looked up at the stage, startled. What was he doing now? Several of her backup singers, including a few who weren't supposed to be here came pouring out of the backstage area. The music was familiar and it suddenly clicked what the song was just as Dick started moving down the steps and in her direction.

Elle straightened; gasping in shock just as he began singing . . .

It's a beautiful night,  
We're looking for something dumb to do.  
Hey baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Is it the look in your eyes,  
Or is it this dancing juice?  
Who cares baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Dick reached her. Lazlo had already pulled her father's wheelchair out of the way and Dick tugged her out of her chair. He led her through the tables and onto the dance floor.

Well I know this little chapel on the boulevard we can go oh oh oh,  
No one will know oh oh oh,  
Oh, come on, girl.  
Who cares if we're trashed got a pocket full of cash we can blow oh oh oh,  
Shots of patron,  
And it's on, girl.

The people there had moved off, and Elle saw her friends and their spouses had joined her singers in doing a little choreographed flashdance. Then a several people that Elle recognized from Dick's precinct ran out with them, and several more that Elle didn't even know.

Oh, my God, she thought excitedly; grinning madly at the show in front of her. It was just like on those romantic videos that she loved so much! Dick let go of her hand as he ran out to join them in the dance.

Don't say no, no, no, no-no;  
Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah;  
And we'll go, go, go, go-go.  
If you're ready, like I'm ready.

Elle felt people moving up behind her. She peeked over her shoulder to see that Bruce was standing beside her. Her father rolled up to her other side. People from all over the restaurant had left their tables to surround the dance floor. Overwhelmed, she quickly turned back to the show in front of her, not wanting to miss a thing.

Cause it's a beautiful night,  
We're looking for something dumb to do.  
Hey baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Is it the look in your eyes,  
Or is it this dancing juice?  
Who cares baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

He backed up and began dancing again with the others. She shook her head amazed. When had he had time to do this? She had been so caught up in speaking to lawyers about the company, rehearsals, and getting ready for the holiday season . . . she had been too busy to notice anything unusual was going on.

Dick ran over to her and began singing directly to her.

I'll go get a ring let the choir bells sing like oooh,  
So what you wanna do?  
Let's just run girl.

If we wake up and you wanna break up that's cool.  
No, I won't blame you;  
It was fun, girl.

Dick grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the dance floor this time. Elle almost panicked. She didn't know the choreography, but Dick merely pulled her into his arms and began dancing with her as they would normally. He spun her around and brought her back in, and she began laughing.

Don't say no, no, no, no-no;  
Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah;  
And we'll go, go, go, go-go.  
If you're ready, like I'm ready.

Cause it's a beautiful night,  
We're looking for something dumb to do.  
Hey baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Is it the look in your eyes,  
Or is it this dancing juice?  
Who cares baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Just say I doooooo-ooo uhu,  
Tell me right now baby,  
Tell me right now baby, baby.

Just say I doooooo-ooo uhu,  
Tell me right now baby,  
Tell me right now baby, baby

Dick slowed down and held her hands as he sang to her.

Oh, it's a beautiful night,  
We're looking for something dumb to do.  
Hey baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

Is it the look in your eyes,  
Or is it this dancing juice?  
Who cares baby,  
I think I wanna marry you.

* * *

He tugged a small box out of his pocket and knelt in front of her. Elle felt a little lightheaded. Why she was so dizzy and excited and thrilled beyond measure she didn't know. They were bondmates, for God's sake. This didn't mean anything. This was just a piece of jewelry. Only a piece a paper for society. Just a silly, little ceremony that in the course of things didn't represent even a tenth of what it meant to be bonded . . .

A silly, little ceremony that she wanted more than anything else in the entire world! One in which she could stand in front of all her family and friends and declare herself to this man; this one, perfect man!

The tears were back.

Jasmine and Randi came up beside her and hugged her from behind, in effect, holding her upright when she might have crashed down on her bottom in front of everyone. She would be eternally grateful for their support, quite literally.

Sweat ran down Dick's face, and he licked his lips. Elle suddenly realized that he was as nervous as she was! But why? He had to know what her answer would be! He hadn't acted nervous as he had danced and sang and made a general spectacle of himself in front of a hundred people. Of course, she was so overwhelmed by her own emotions that she had had no idea what he had been feeling through most of it.

"Elle," he began. "I never believed in love at first sight until I met you. I've met beautiful women aplenty and many have caught my eye throughout the years, but not one of them had ever made me catch my breath in astonishment or wonder. None had ever made my heart skip a beat and then pound like it was some mad drummer. None had ever made me forget the world and those around me just by walking into a room . . ." He smiled. "Or onto a stage.

"None but you. I came back every night because seeing you, hearing you sing, watching you move became necessary to my continued existence; just like the air I breathe. You made a believer out of me. Just when I think I couldn't love you more, I wake up and discover that I do. It grows every day . . . exponentially!

"You are my soul mate, Arabella Loren Hamilton. My bondmate. My lover and my friend. But I discovered that I would not be complete unless you are mine in _every_ way possible. And because of that, and because I can think of no greater joy in life than to spend it making you happy, and because I want to stand in front of everyone and declare myself to you . . ."

"You mean, kind of like you're doing now," she asked him with a watery smile.

Dick laughed, and the crowd chuckled right along with him. Elle felt some of his tension ease out of him.

"Yeah, kind of like I'm doing now," he grinned.

And then the grin relaxed into a soft upturning of his lips. "Elle, would you be my wife," Dick asked her softly. He opened the box and held it up to her. "Will you marry me?"

The ring sparkled in the spotlight that they stood in. It looked nothing like the ring he had once given Babs. This one was white gold and the single, perfect, carat diamond that was accented on either side by three trilliant-cut sapphires. It was perfect! It was so beautiful . . . And he had picked it out just for her.

With one shaking hand she picked up the box, and with the other she caressed his face. She nodded.

"There is nothing in this world I would love more than to be your wife, Richard John Grayson-Wayne. Yes, I will marry you."

* * *

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**Come on, there has to be some kind of reaction to this . . . Fave if you love it! Oh, and btw, Last Chance just hit 25,000 views as of 7-25-15. YEAH!**

**The first song listed is ****"Love Of My Life" ** **(feat. Michael W. Smith) was written by Tom Douglas and Jim Brickman and is from Jim Brickman's album, Destiny. Released in 1999 under the label Windham Hill.**

**The second song is "Marry You" – written by Bruno Mars Ari Levine and Phillip Lawrence. Released in Aug. of 2011 as a single from the album, Doo-Wops &amp; Hooligans under the labels Atlantic and Elektra.**

**I own no part of either song.**


	63. After-Dinner Mint

**I apologize for leaving you hanging for so long. Work and some health issues kept me from posting to any of my stories for a while. I put updates on my profile if any of you are curious as to what I am doing. It will tell you whether I am currently working on a different story or if something else has come up.**

**This chapter is like the little treat that housekeeping leaves on your pillow in fine hotels. Short and so sweet . . . **

**Warning: Some mild sexuality . . .**

* * *

_There had been so many people_ . . . Elle thought, contemplating the ring on her finger as she sat propped against the headboard of her bed. She glanced at the man asleep at her side. She had met so many of his friends earlier and he had actually gotten in touch with several of hers. How had she gotten so lucky? She couldn't imagine having bonded with a person that she didn't like, let alone someone she found unlovable. Arthur had told her that it was possible; that there were even stories of Sirens instigating the bonding with people for political advantage.

Apparently, Sirens weren't always very nice people. That made her a little nervous about her plan to meet the Sirens that Arthur had told her about. He had warned her that Dick wouldn't be happy with her for that. In fact, Arthur had admitted that Dick had asked him to not tell her about the brothers at all.

Elle made a face at her sleeping lover as she gently pushed his unruly bangs out of his eyes. She didn't appreciate his taking such a highhanded approach, but she knew she would forgive him for it. He loved her . . . He feared anything that might take her away from him. But they were bondmates! Nothing but death could separate them. She would wean him onto the idea.

Her mind drifted back onto the evening. The person that had made the biggest impression on her was the man Dick had introduced her to as his brother . . . Jason. Finally a face to go with all those remarks about black sheep and what not. But Jason didn't remind her of Aiden in the least, for all that he and Dick apparently didn't get on well. For someone who avoided family at all costs, Jason had been a pretty good sport about this evening; even going so far as to join into the dance when Dick sang "Marry You" to her. He and Dick's other two friends . . . The redheaded ones . . . What were their names again? Oh yeah, Wally and Roy.

She suppressed a chuckle. Those were some very good friends to have been willing to join into the hilarious dance number. Of the three of them, Wally . . . At least she thought it was Wally, had probably been the lightest on his feet, but still all of them had stomped around like bulls; Jason even more so with his heavy biker boots. But it made her love them all the more for it.

Jason hadn't stuck around for the party afterward. He had stayed long enough to meet her. It was mostly just Elle watching as Jason and Dick traded barbs good-naturedly, but there had been some tension on Jason's part. The two obviously still had problems, but the fact that his brother had shown up at all, let alone taken part, had made Dick ecstatically happy.

She had danced her feet off during the night, in between joining the guest entertainers for impromptu songs. Dick had even joined the band once, playing guitar. How had she not known he could play the guitar? How could he have kept it from her? When she had asked him about it, he had just shrugged and told her that he hadn't mentioned it because she hadn't asked. Exasperating man . . .

She smiled fondly down at the man snuggled up to, and currently drooling, on her thigh. Dick still had hidden depths that she meant to explore and talents that she planned to exploit on occasion; one of which that was fast approaching, in fact. Christmas was less than a week away . . .

Her thoughts were abruptly rattled by a loud snore. Giggling, Elle held Dick's nose until he snorted and woke up. He craned his neck to glare sleepily at her.

* * *

"What gives?"

"You were snoring," she explained, amused.

Dick snorted derisively and snuggled further down into the fresh linen. "I don't snore," he declared, pompously.

"Not often," Elle admitted, "but you did just a few seconds ago."

"That is a blatant falsehood," he yawned.

"Are you calling me a liar?" She gaped down at him in wide-eyed amusement.

"I'm calling you . . . beautiful," he murmured.

Elle laughed. "Nice save, buddy," she said as she tried to shove him over.

"Why are you still awake? You danced more than I did, and I'm exhausted," Dick complained as he peeked at her from his nest of covers.

"More so than when you get in from patrol?" Elle enjoyed teasing him.

"That's a different kind of exhaustion," he told her. Dick wrapped an arm around Elle's waist and dragged her down into the bed; ignoring her delighted squeal.

She smiled at him as she rolled to face him. "You were amazing tonight."

He returned the expression. "Yeah, I was, wasn't I?" He nuzzled her neck suggestively and lightly bit her ear. "Why don't you let me amaze you again," he murmured against her silken skin.

Elle rolled onto her back; spreading out her arms like a virgin sacrifice. "Okay," she said, grinning. "I've prepared myself. Go ahead and dazzle me."

Dick chuckled and leaned over her. He paused a moment to stare at her; his eyes flitting over each feature as if he were memorizing it.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips.

She slid her arms around his neck; her fingers delving into his hair. "For what?"

"Saying yes," He rubbed his nose playfully against her own.

Elle paused to stare at him in astonishment. "You had to know what my answer would be! It was perfect tonight, you know," she told him honestly. "You are everything that I've ever wanted, even before I knew what I wanted."

"I cannot think of what I did to deserve you," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

"It must have been something wonderful," Elle teased.

"It must have," he agreed.

"Silly man," she sighed contently. "It is I who am blest. You've made me so very happy."

"Then it's mutual," he agreed, and bent his head to kiss her.

His lips moved over hers softly at first, and then with greater fervency. Each stroke of her tongue against his sent a burst of electricity skittering down his spine. She moaned into his mouth and his heart pounded with the kind of excitement that was usually reserved for diving from skyscrapers.

Her hands pulled his head down to hers harder as the passion crashed over them. She stroked his back; trailing her nails over his skin and making him shiver in response. When he slid into her, Elle welcomed him eagerly. The love that enveloped him was all-consuming; overwhelming almost, but despite that he wasn't afraid or nervous. It was like coming home. Once more, Dick was reassured that his decision to marry Elle and embrace the bond was the right one . . . The _only_ one he could have made.

* * *

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**Another Chapter will be posted tomorrow morning. That's a promise because it is already written and ready to go . . . ;)**


	64. Home For The Holidays

**Too bad this didn't coincide with the actual holiday season . . . Oh well. This chapter takes place on Christmas Eve.**

**Warnings: Some language . . .**

* * *

"Merry Christmas!"

Elle set down several gifts on the entry table in order to exchange hugs with Bruce and Alfred as Dick carried their luggage into the foyer. She turned to greet Damian and Tim as Dick started the rounds of hand-shaking and back-slapping that was the norm of male-dominated households.

"Have you been good, Damian," Elle asked the boy. "Or will Santa be leaving you a lump of coal this year?"

Damian snorted and scoffed. "Santa Claus is a myth perpetuated by adults in order to bribe their offspring into good behavior, and one that is supported by greedy toy companies eager to make a year-end profit."

She stared at him like he was an alien. "Really," she said dryly. "Who talks like that?"

Damian tilted his head, confused. "I do."

Dick wrapped his arm around Elle's waist from behind. He grinned at Damian from over her shoulder. "We warned you, did we not?" Dick reminded her while nuzzling her ear. "Damian's not your typical eleven year old."

She shrugged, effectively dislodging her amorous fiancé. She appeared unconcerned. "Well, myth or not, Santa will be visiting the manor this year, so don't scare him into leaving coal," Elle instructed Damian seriously. "My sources tell me it is a good year for presents."

Damian blinked at Elle, unsure how to take her absolute certainty. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "What sources?"

Rather than answering, Elle just smirked at him.

"Tim, do you want to help me carry in the rest of the presents," she asked the teen who was standing nearby.

"Sure," Tim moved to the door cheerfully.

Damian frowned. "Drake would only drop them," he declared. "Here; I'll help."

Dick grinned as he grabbed the back of the youngster's sweater as he tried to follow. "Hold up, Little D," he laughed; enjoying the boy's poorly hidden enthusiasm. "I need your help with the luggage."

The boy scowled at the suitcases and overnight bag. "You could easily handle these by yourself, Grayson. But Drake's innate clumsiness could ruin the Christmas presents."

"Weren't you just scoffing at Christmas only moments ago?"

"No," Damian denied. "Only about the absurdity of the Santa myth."

"Sh!" Dick slapped a hand over the boy's mouth. "Didn't Elle just warn you not to scare the big guy away? Insults over his existence tend to do that, you know."

Damian pulled his brother's hand away from his mouth. "That's the most idiotic thing you've ever said, Grayson! I've never believed in something as childish as Santa Claus. Please tell me that you haven't played the fool before! That is something I'd expect from Drake, not you."

"But of course I believe in Santa, Damian, and so does Bruce and Alfred," Dick proclaimed expansively. He winked at the two men Damian's head as the boy spun around, horrified.

"Father, _no_! Please, say it isn't so!" At his father's calm nod, Damian peeked at Alfred. He had gained a grudging respect for the servant over the months he had known him. "Surely not you, too, Pennyworth!"

"But of course, Master Damian," Alfred lied smoothly; going along with the jest. "Saint Nicholas has been bringing presents to good, little boys and girls for centuries!"

"Centuries . . ." Damian repeated. "Do you hear yourself? Nobody lives for centuries, let alone gives out presents to children around the world. What you are talking about sounds like magic!"

"You've never heard of the magic of Christmas," Dick inserted.

"He's never brought _me _a gift before," the boy announced, unconvinced.

Bruce tilted his head as he looked at his son. "Why would he bring gifts to someone who professes not to believe in him? It isn't as if you've celebrated the holiday before this year."

Damian stared at the men around him as doubt crept into his eyes. What his father said made a kind of sense, even if Grayson and Pennyworth's declarations did not.

"What's going on," Elle asked as she walked back in laden with brightly-wrapped presents and Tim on her heels.

Dick turned as he answered her. "Oh, Damian just said that believing in Santa is . . . _Ow_! Hey!" He glared down at Damian. The boy had just kicked his ankle.

"Stop dawdling, Grayson," he said. "I thought you wanted help carrying the luggage upstairs." The boy picked up one of the suitcases. While it wasn't too heavy for him, it was cumbersome. "I assume that you two will be sharing a room like the last time you were here?"

Dick and Elle exchanged glances, blushing slightly. Dick flicked Damian's ear as he moved past him.

"Hey! Watch it," Damian yelped. "What was that for?"

"You're not supposed to notice stuff like that yet, Little D," Dick told him. "Or at least not in public settings."

"This isn't public," Damian grumbled. "This is family . . . Well, except maybe for Drake."

"Damian," Elle warned gently. She frowned at the younger boy.

A splash of color stained Damian's cheeks as he dipped his head. "Come on, Grayson," he called, trudging toward the stairs with his burden. "Quit lagging behind."

Dick winked again and followed the younger boy in the direction of his old bedroom.

* * *

"You care to explain what that was all about?" Bruce moved to take the bulky gifts from Elle's arms.

"Dick mentioned that Damian hadn't had much of a childhood, so I decided to give him one," Elle pursed her lips as she looked in the direction the boy and Dick had just disappeared.

"One," Alfred commented, "that includes the wonders of Christmas, I assume."

Tim shuffled the presents in his arms for a more secure position. "Good luck with that one. Damian's not one for fairy tales, I'm afraid."

Elle tilted her head at him curiously. "What fairy tales," she asked.

Tim's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Saint Nicholas, maybe?"

"Saint Nicholas existed," she told him.

Tim grinned at her teasing. "Okay, yeah, fine . . . Saint Nicholas existed, like, in the Middle Ages. But you are talking about Santa Claus!"

"You don't believe in Santa Claus, Tim?" Elle looked at him sympathetically, as if she had just discovered he had grown up homeless or something.

He laughed in exasperation. "Come on, Elle. Do I look like I'm six to you? Of course not."

Elle promptly removed the packages from Tim's arms and set them precariously on the already over-burdened entry table. She then turned and hugged him. Startled, Tim stood gaping at Bruce and Alfred with his arms still out in surprise. After a moment, almost hesitantly, he hugged her back.

When she retreated a minute later, Elle dabbed at her eyes and sniffled. Tim stared at her, incredulous. Where did Dick find her? She couldn't seriously still believe in Santa Claus! It was too unbelievable . . . She must be messing with him, he decided.

"I'll do what I can for you, Tim, but I can't guarantee that he will go easy on you," she told him. "You might end up with coal tomorrow."

Elle picked up the packages. "Where can I put these, Alfred?"

"Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Arabella," Alfred started. "If you will follow me?"

Bruce stepped out. "That's alright, Alfred. I'll show her the way. I believe you have Christmas cookies in the oven?"

Now that the front door was closed, everyone seemed to become aware of the delicious aroma wafting through the manor.

"Quite right, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded. "If you'll excuse me?"

Elle grinned. "To save the cookies? Of course, Alfred! They smell wonderful!"

Tim picked up the rest of the packages from the table and scrambled after Bruce and Elle, still marveling at the mysteries of the woman who was about to become a permanent member of the family. She had to be teasing him, he decided firmly. She had to be . . .

He was almost sure of it.

* * *

They were gathered around the island in the kitchen, each with a glass of milk or a cup of cocoa as they sampled Alfred's Christmas cookies while they were still warm.

"So, when is Jason getting here?" Elle was looking forward to meeting this mysterious brother again.

Silence greeted Elle's question. She looked around, confused. Surely, the antagonism she had observed didn't extend into the holidays . . . This was _Christmas_! It was a time for family! Christmas wouldn't be the same if one of the family members were missing.

"Why would Todd be here," Damian asked, frowning.

"Because Christmas is all about family and Jason is family," Elle explained, exasperated.

"It's bad enough that we have to have Drake here," Damian sniped. His head bobbed when Dick gave him a little shove.

"Be nice, Dami," he told him.

Did she really need to explain this? Even Aiden came home for the holidays. It made for a rather subdued and tense-filled Christmas, especially after her mother had died. But as much animosity was between them, they had always managed to get through the day with only a few barbs. They managed mostly by just ignoring the other. Even though she had been spending Christmas itself with her grandparents for years, she always had an early Christmas with her father and brother before she flew to Italy.

Dick slid his arm around her waist. "Um, Jason is welcome to join us, but he tends to prefer to do his own thing."

Elle glanced up and saw a flash of pain in Dick's eyes. There was more to this than they were letting on. Damian was hostile to the idea, she noted, and Tim looked uncomfortable, but Bruce and Alfred shared Dick's sadness that Jason was missing. This wasn't acceptable. Not at Christmas!

"Did you make certain to invite him the other night?" She wasn't letting him off the hook.

"Elle," Bruce interrupted. "Things have happened that Jason has a hard time forgiving. We would love to have him join us for the holidays, but . . ."

"Speak for yourself," Damian grumbled low, but not low enough.

Bruce glared at his son, and although Damian ducked his head, the look on his face did not include shame. Elle narrowed her eyes at him. Was it jealousy? The boy certainly felt it for Tim, she noticed, although those two seemed to be dealing with one another well enough.

"But," Bruce continued, "Jason would not come."

"I find that hard to believe," Elle said. "Perhaps he just needs a little more convincing. Does he have someone else to spend the day with? A girlfriend, perhaps?"

Dick chuckled and raised his hands. "Don't look at me! I was as shocked as anyone when he agreed to show up for the proposal. He didn't exactly confide in me all the intricacies his life has taken lately."

"But he _did_ agree," Elle insisted. "And that shows that he still cares for family."

"He also left almost immediately afterwards," Tim pointed out. "And you and Dick were the only ones he spoke to."

"That's not entirely true, Master Timothy," Alfred spoke up. "I shared a few words with him before he departed."

"But he refused to speak to the rest of us," Tim insisted.

"Did you try to speak to _him_," Elle asked the teen.

Tim's eyes widened slightly at that. "Jason and I get along even less well than he does with Bruce."

That surprised her. For all of Tim's little remarks about Damian, he seemed to be the mellowest out of all the brothers that she could see. There was very little about Tim to take offense to. But then again, she hadn't spent more than a few days in the company of Dick's family and wasn't privy to all the history that was there. It wasn't as if she herself was open with Dick about her and Aiden's relationship. He thought he understood the emotions that ran between her and her brother, but he had only glimpsed the surface. That river ran _deep_ and could easily drown the unwary.

"An effort needs to be made," she insisted. "Forgiveness doesn't come easy, but it won't come at all without at least an open invitation."

Dick glanced at Bruce. The billionaire met his gaze and shrugged.

"You can try," he murmured before turning on his heel and heading off into the interior of the house.

Elle bit her lip. She looked up at Dick, worriedly. "Did I just stick my foot in it," she asked.

The smile he gave wasn't encouraging. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "I'll give Jay a call. The worst that could happen is that he won't pick up."

"The worst that could happen would be if he _showed_ up," Damian grumbled.

The disturbing part was that no one disagreed with him.

* * *

Elle sat between the brothers and munched on cookies while Dick went outside to call Jason. No one spoke as they alternated between watching Alfred clean up the kitchen and begin preparations for dinner, and watching Dick through the window in the back door. When the door opened several minutes later, everyone sat up straighter. Tension ran through the previously warm and inviting kitchen as they waited for the verdict.

Dick ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "He's not picking up. I left a couple of messages, but who knows if he'll get them or not."

Tim and Damian slumped in their stools in relief; exchanging small smiles, but Elle bit her lip; thinking.

"What if you swung by and asked him personally," she asked hesitantly. "It is always harder to turn down an invitation that is given in person."

Tim snorted, then blushed at the look Alfred gave him. "You don't know Jason, Elle. He's as perfectly capable of refusing an invitation in person as he is over the phone."

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to go with you," Elle declared.

Four pairs of startled eyes stared at her.

"What?" She stared back. "Christmas is worth the effort," she said. "Family is worth a heck of a lot more."

She hopped off the stool and headed toward the door and the foyer beyond.

"Come on, Dick," she called over her shoulder. "We should have enough time to get Jason and be back before dinner if we hurry. We'll do our best not to be late, Alfred! Set an extra place for Jason, please!"

"She sounds confident that you'll convince him," Tim commented.

"You aren't seriously going to take her to Jason's apartment, are you?" Damian set his unfinished cookie back on its plate. "Do you even know where he lives?"

Dick pulled his eyes from the door where his fiancée disappeared over to his brothers. "I know where he lives," he confirmed. "And if anyone would be able to convince Jason to come home, even if it were only for Christmas, it would be Elle. Cross your fingers. We'll be back in an hour."

* * *

The trio watched as he walked through the door back to the main living area of the house. They looked at one another once more.

"Do you think they'll succeed," Tim asked no one in particular.

"It's a stupid superstition, but just in case, I'm crossing my fingers," Damian declared.

Alfred looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow. "You are hoping that Jason comes, Damian?"

"Of course not," Damian huffed. "I'm crossing them in hopes that he slams the door in their faces."

"That is likely what will happen, but . . . Superstition or not, I'll think I'll join you," Tim said, making a show of crossing his fingers on both hands. "Maybe he's out of town visiting a friend."

"A friend?" Damian scoffed. "This is Todd we're talking about, you know."

Alfred quietly crossed the fingers of his left hand while he continued to wipe the counter with his right. He hoped also, but his hopes ran opposite of the two boys sitting at the island. It might make for a stressful Christmas, but he would love it above all things if _everyone_ could be home for the holidays this year.

* * *

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**This is for those who have been begging for Jason to show up . . . I think I might have found a way to include him in the story earlier than I had planned. And more than just a cameo appearance this time!**

**Will Elle be able to charm Jason? Will Christmas be spoiled? Or will it be the best Christmas at the manor than had happened in years?**


	65. A New Perspective

**I kind of forgot I wrote this. It started out as a different version for the previous chapter. I changed it up so that it can still be used and gives a little family history to Elle (according to this AU). Also, for your edification: although Jason Todd died, events happened differently in this AU so that he is able to retain his identity as Jason Todd-Wayne. That part will be explained at a later time.**

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

"I know you are still harboring hope, but he's not going to come," Dick told Elle as he followed her into his old bedroom they were sharing. He hated to disappoint her, but whatever dream she had for this holiday would not come about with Jason present. "This trip to his apartment will be a waste of time."

Elle looked up from where she was tugging free her coat and scarf from the closet. She frowned at him.

"Did you try," she asked suspiciously. "Really try?"

Dick gaped at her. "What? Of course, I tried. I said I would, but sweetheart, he's still not answering the phone and he's not returning my texts."

She had the grace to look abashed as she set her coat on the bed. "I'm sorry. It's just that I got the impression that I was the only one who wanted him here."

"I would love it if Jason came for Christmas, but I've been trying for a couple of years just to get him to come over and he adamantly refuses every time," Dick explained; rubbing his jaw at the memory of how adamantly Jason refused.

"But we're going to issue the invitation in person," Elle asked, hopefully. "It will be so much harder for him to refuse you when you are standing right in front of him."

Dick snorted. "You don't know Jason. Trust me when I tell you that he has no problem refusing in person or over the phone or through text messaging."

Elle shook out the scarf and started wrapping it around her neck. It was cold outside. "That's why you need to take me with you."

"Elle, it's not a good idea."

"Of course it is a good idea," she insisted, picking up her coat.

Dick frowned at her. "No. No way."

The more he thought about it, the more he preferred to keep some distance between the two of them. Jason might refuse with his fist, and Dick didn't want Elle near if that happened.

Elle smiled at him and slid her arms around his neck. "Yes way," she said.

"Elle, Jason is not the sweet personable guy you thought you met at the party," he warned her.

Her eyes widened and she laughed. "_That_ was his sweet personable side?"

Dick's mouth quirked up on one side. "Well, he showed up and didn't attempt to shoot anyone, so yeah, I'd say that was being pretty sweet of him."

Elle was startled. "He shoots people?"

"Usually only bad people," Dick shrugged.

"So, he's a cop like you?" She asked while pulling on her coat.

Now Dick laughed. "No, Jason is not a cop."

Elle stopped and stared. "I don't understand. How can he get away with shooting people if he's not a cop? Even bad guys . . ."

Dick turned towards the window. He still loved the view of the grounds he had from here.

"Batman cuts him some slack," he admitted, reluctantly.

"Bruce . . ."

"There is some history between them that you aren't aware of," Dick told her. "Jason was a Robin. Some things went . . . wrong . . ."

Elle stepped up behind him and touched his shoulder. "He was hurt?"

"He was dead," Dick said bluntly.

"He . . . Wait. What?" Elle stammered. "How . . .? Oh, okay, I get it. You don't mean literally, but figuratively. He did something that made Bruce cut him loose. Is that what you mean by his 'shooting' bad guys?"

"No. No, I meant that literally," Dick told her. "Jason was killed as Robin by the Joker."

Elle stepped back, frowning. "The Joker . . . I've heard of him. He's a crazy guy who dresses up like a clown, right?"

"That description, while technically correct, doesn't begin to cover what the Joker is," Dick sighed. "He murdered Jason, Elle. In the very real sense of it."

"But h-how?" Elle shook her head. This didn't make sense. "Jason is human, isn't he?"

The laughter was bitter. "Some might question his humanity, but yes, Jason is human." Dick turned around and leaned back against the window sill. "Another of Batman's adversaries switched out Jason's body and dipped him into what he calls a 'Lazarus Pit'."

Elle gaped at him for a second and then scowled in thought. "Okay, assuming that Lazarus isn't the name of the guy who discovered this pit, that is self-explanatory. Something about this pit can reverse death? That sounds like a bad sci-fi movie plot."

Dick pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Yeah, it kind of does, doesn't it? But it's real, Elle. Jason was brought back to life. Unfortunately, one of the side effects from that is a temporary loss of sanity. When he eventually came back to himself, Jason returned to Gotham."

"I take it there wasn't a happy reunion," she guessed.

"When he discovered that Joker was alive and well . . . He was . . . upset. He felt betrayed by Bruce that he hadn't taken revenge on the bastard in retaliation for his murder."

"Oh," Elle bit her lip. "Yeah, I guess I can see how that might be disappointing."

"Trust me, the Joker didn't get off easy. Batman came as near to breaking his vow then as he ever did. The Joker spent many months in a body cast and then traction, but that wasn't enough for Jason."

Elle finished for him. "Jason wanted him dead."

Dick nodded. "And to make matters worse, Batman stopped Jason from exacting his revenge on Joker himself. Jason's been . . . bitter, ever since."

Elle winced. "Oh, wow! And here I thought _my_ family history was convoluted . . ."

Dick stared at the floor between their feet. "You aren't regretting your answer now, are you?"

Elle startled. "What? Oh . . . _No_, Dick! _Never_!" She walked into his arms and hugged him. "But . . . God! How ever did you manage to come out sane in this family?"

Dick gave a bark of laughter. "I'm not entirely certain I did," he admitted wryly. "But you do wonders at bringing a sense of normality back into my life." He smiled down at her. "I thank you for that. I need a little normality."

Elle grinned. "That's a sad thing when you consider life with a mermaid as 'normal'."

Dick laughed. This was yet another reason why he loved her so much. She always managed to do that . . . Make him laugh; make him feel as though everything was going to turn out all right.

"Okay, I understand Bruce's reticence, but what about the rest of the family? No one seemed eager to have Jason join in the festivities."

Dick winced. "Well, just as upsetting as finding the Joker alive, then there was Tim."

Elle tilted her head, curiously. She really wanted – no, needed – to understand this family. It was going to be her family one day soon. There was an ache in her heart already for the pain and emotional turmoil that everyone here must suffer.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't understand."

"Tim became the new Robin," Dick explained. "He had figured out somehow that I was the original Robin and through that Bruce's identity; much as you did."

Elle lifted an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "You aren't very good at keeping that secret, are you?"

Dick snorted. "Apparently not. Anyway, Tim began following our exploits. He reasoned out that I moved on to become Nightwing and that there was a new Robin. And then when Robin disappeared and Batman grew even darker and more dangerous, becoming even more violent than ever before, Tim worked it out that something had happened to the new Robin. He saw the need for Batman to have a Robin in his life or else he might one day break his vow and do the unthinkable. Anyway, Jason saw Tim as his replacement.

"That's the second time you referenced this 'vow'. What is it exactly?"

"To not kill," Dick explained to her. "Batman doesn't take lives. He brings criminals in to face the justice system, but he doesn't kill them, no matter the atrocities they might commit nor how much he might personally feel they might deserve it."

"Honorable," she murmured.

"Not completely," Dick said. "His father was a doctor and that instilled in him a deep sense of value in human life, but also Bruce fears the darkness that is inside of him." At her look, he explained. "He fears that if he gives into the urge to dole out justice himself by taking a life, like that of the Joker, he wouldn't stop with just one life. What would then stop him from taking another and then another, but always justifying it with the idea that they deserved it? He refuses to take the chance that he would become one of the very monsters that he hunts."

Elle was silent for a long minute. "No," she said, looking up at him. "No. Still honorable."

Dick leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. She always saw the best in people, his sweet, naïve Elle.

She smiled. "That he recognizes the potential for the abuse of his power and takes the care to not to fall victim to it, that takes honor and some pretty incredible self-discipline. Something to admire." The smile fell away. "But Jason, I take it, doesn't share this fear."

Dick straightened and sighed. "No. When he first showed up, Jason killed a few criminals. They weren't the pillar of even the criminal community, but it wasn't for him to decide that. It's created a distance between him and Bruce, and all of us really, that is almost impossible to bridge."

"Almost," she said, biting her lip. "But he still came to the party and even joined in briefly. I think that maybe he wants to bridge that distance as well, but can't think how to do it. Too much water under the bridge so to speak."

"So to speak," Dick agreed.

"And now, not only does Jason not get along with Bruce, but also is jealous of Tim. How does he feel about Damian?"

Dick shrugged. "He doesn't really know Damian enough to care. But you should know he's tried to kill Tim once or twice."

Elle sat up straight at that revelation. "What," she gasped. But it was only a moment later, she was shaking her head. "No, he didn't."

Dick blinked. "Yes, he did, and that would make Christmas with them together in the same household a challenge at best."

Elle shook her head. "No, he didn't. Dick, if he tried to kill Tim, Tim would be dead. Unless you are telling me that Jason is incompetent with his guns . . ."

Dick frowned. "No, Jason is one of the best shots I've ever seen."

"Then if he wanted Tim dead, he would have shot him and Tim would be dead." Elle nodded as she thought about it. "Maybe he was trying to frighten Tim away, but he wasn't trying to kill him."

"That's an interesting way to look at it, but Jason admitted it."

Elle glanced at him as she began buttoning her coat. "So, you're saying that Jason just walked up to you and told you flat out that he tried and _failed_ to kill Tim?"

"No, it didn't happen like that."

"So, when you saw him you said, 'why did you try to kill Tim?' and he didn't deny it," Elle stood up and tied the belt.

Dick opened his mouth and then paused. "Uh, well, yeah, it kind of happened like that."

She smiled. "He wasn't trying to kill Tim, then. Besides, you said he tried twice and yet Tim's still walking around, taking college classes, and fighting the good fight against criminals on his own."

"The two of them fought, sweetheart," Dick told her. "And Tim's no pushover."

Elle pulled out her gloves from her coat pocket. "They fought," she clarified. "Hand-to-hand?"

Dick was frowning at her as he began to see this bit of family history from a new perspective. "Yes."

"He was angry then and wanted to run Tim off, but when that didn't work, Jason challenged him in order to test him. Perhaps it was to reassure himself that Tim wasn't the better Robin, or maybe it was to see what Tim was made of but his anger pushed it into scary territory." Elle summarized as she tugged on her gloves. "Either way, if Jason had honestly wanted Tim dead, I don't believe he would have failed . . . Particularly if he tried twice."

Dick was silent now. He stared at Elle with new eyes. "You . . . You may be right," he said. "But it is still a big risk to take on a theory put forth by someone who has spent forty-five minutes in Jason's company."

"You'll see . . . In this, I am right," Elle assured him. "So, are you ready to go and issue the invitation personally? Because I am going with you."

Dick opened his mouth to put up a token protest, but changed his mind. He already knew she would go, and he also knew if there were any hope of Jason agreeing, it would be because of Elle. He grabbed his own coat and the keys to the car; feeling hope for the first time as he saw the past through Elle's perspective.

"Let's go," he said, holding open the door for her. "Dinner's in less than an hour. It takes twenty minutes to get there, so you have ten minutes to convince him to come back with us."

Elle's smile wavered. She looked back at him, startled. She had forgotten the time.

"Ten minutes?" She squeaked.

Dick laughed. "Up to the challenge?"

Determination filled her, and Elle grabbed his arm; tugging Dick after her. "Come on," she yelped. "Hurry up!"

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**I promise - Jason is in the next chapter!**


	66. The Invite

**You all are so very patient . . . I thank you for your continued interest in this story. Remember that it is supposed to be a "happy" story for the most part, with angst and drama tossed in to mix it up a bit. **

**This chapter is going to give you a bit of Jason's history that, as far as I know, is unique to my AU. Part of my goals for this story is to bring the Bat Family back together again (not all roses and sunshine, but not trying to kill one another or not speaking to each other). Jason's death is a problem that prevents him from truly becoming part of the family in the way I wanted, so I tweaked it a bit. In my head, it is far more detailed than what you get here, of course, and perhaps elsewhere more will come out. This is enough for my purposes . . . I hope it makes sense.**

**WARNING: VERY BAD LANGUAGE!**

* * *

Jason opened the door only to immediately try to slam it shut. Unfortunately, Dick's reflexes were just as good as ever as the other man's boot slid into the opening. Dick hit the door with both hands and Jason was forced to step back or gain a couple of new peepholes in the cheap hollow-core door. He would definitely have to replace it with something more substantial after this. Dickiebird probably just did him a favor by reminding him that the door sucked for security.

"That's not very hospitable, Jay," Dick said, stepping into the apartment.

"If you're looking for a hospital, I might be able to oblige you, Dickwad," Jason snarked. "Damn it! I knew I shouldn't have come to Bludhaven last week! I figured you get the wrong idea."

"What idea is that?" Dick smirked.

"The wrongheaded idea that you might be welcome to drop by whenever you damn-well felt like it!" Jason moved back over to the table and picked up his drink. He had planned to get well and truly smashed tonight until he was so rudely interrupted.

"Aw, but its Christmas, Jay! Where's your holiday spirit?" Dick walked further into the room.

Jason watched as he glanced around. He knew that part of what Dick was doing was the same thing Jason did every time he entered a potentially dangerous situation. He was assessing the room for weapons and noting various escape routes. The rest was Dick just noting the distinctly depressing lack of holiday décor. No tree, no lights, no tinsel, no presents . . . Jason didn't do holidays. At least not since he had been Robin and lived at the manor.

He had only received one gift prior to that brief period that he could remember, and that had been from his mother. He wasn't sure of the time. It hadn't been Christmas, though . . . He thought it might have been summer . . . So, his birthday, maybe? An old, battered Frisbee someone had obviously discarded. They couldn't afford gifts, and then his mom had gotten sick. The Frisbee had been someone else's trash, but Jason had treasured the toy simply because his mom had given it to him.

His eyes automatically searched out the closet that hid the Frisbee from sight. He still had it. He kept it stuffed into a backpack with a few other sentimental and essential items in case he needed to bug out in a hurry.

Jason picked up his bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey and poured himself another fingerful of the liquor. "My holiday spirit is where it belongs," he retorted. "In a bottle, with my good friend, Jack, here."

Dick tilted his head at him; the annoying smirk still plastered on his face. "Christmas is all about family as well as friends. How about you coming over to the manor to share Christmas dinner with us?"

Jason snorted as he raised his glass.

"No," he said, and finished off the amber liquid; appreciating the subtle burn of the alcohol down the back of his throat.

"Come on," Dick insisted. "You can bring your friend Jack with you if you like."

"I said, No!" Jason slammed the glass down on the table with a bit more force than he had intended. "Go on! You can scurry back home now. You can tell everyone that you tried and I refused again. They'll understand. They'll probably be thankful."

Dick stepped closer. "No, they won't."

Jason frowned at the open door behind Dick's back. The idiot had forgotten to close it. The neighbors will likely complain because he had a feeling that this invitation was about to get loud.

"Yes, they will," Jason snapped. "Everyone knows what an asshole I am. They won't question it."

"No, they won't. You are a wanted man, Jay," Dick stepped closer, cautiously. "I'm sorry, but I'm obligated to deliver you."

* * *

The punch came out of nowhere, but Dick's reflexes kept it from connecting. He dodged the second and the third as Jason tried to herd him back toward the door.

_Yeah, I probably could have worded that better_, he thought in hindsight. No doubt Jay thought he had meant delivering him to the authorities rather than the dining room table.

Dick ducked under a fourth powerful blow; moving behind Jason. He was grateful that punch had not connected. It might have dislocated his jaw. Jason spun around and delivered a roundhouse to Dick's ribs that flung him back onto the coffee table. The sound of splintering wood was loud as the low, wooden table collapsed under his weight.

"You owe me a new coffee table, Dickhead," Jason growled before flinging himself onto the other man.

Dick rolled out of the way at the last minute. Using his elbow, he struck the back of Jay's head causing the younger man's face to connect intimately with what was left of his broken furniture. He sighed internally as he flipped to his feet.

_I probably shouldn't have done that either_, he thought, wincing at the sight of blood rushing from the other man's nose. This certainly wouldn't help calm the man down.

Jason swung his leg out and knocked Dick's feet out from under him. Dick landed with another thud, knocking what little wind he had been able to collect right back out of his lungs. He scrambled to regain his feet, however, because he couldn't afford any disadvantage when dealing with Jason. Dick's attention was diverted by movement in the hallway.

_Elle_ . . . He saw her peeking around the doorway, wide-eyed and in shock.

True to form, Jason took advantage of Dick's momentary distraction to slam his fist into Dick's nose. The resulting crunch brought stars and tears of pain to his eyes, and forced him to stumble back.

_Damn it_! This made three times that Dick had his nose broken! He could feel that it was crooked as blood seeped between his fingers and dripped off of his chin. He cringed internally at the thought of Alfred snapping it back into place later.

Pushing his advantage, Jason grabbed Dick by the shirt and pulled him around. Although just breathing hurt like a mother-, Dick was able to block the next punch easily. Even through the stars, he could see that swing coming from miles away. Jason was either getting sloppy or he wasn't taking this fight all that seriously. Now that they were both bloodied, Dick suspected that the end of the tussle was drawing near.

Suddenly, Jason lurched as an unexpected weight landed on his back. Startled, Dick gaped at Elle clinging like a limpet to Jay's back. She had one arm wrapped around his neck and just slapped the crap out of his ear. Jason yelped and then cursed as he grabbed the arm and with a twist flung the weight violently over his head. Dick yelled and leapt across the distance, knowing he wouldn't reach her in time.

He watched helplessly as she connected with chrome and formica, 50's style dining table that had seen better days. The table withstood the impact as Elle's body slid across it, but then it and the chair on the other side toppled over and Elle disappeared behind the mass of falling furniture.

_Shit, shit, shit_! How could he have forgotten how she reacted when he and Bruce had sparred? Of course, she had refused to stay safely tucked in the car, but at least she might have stayed in the hallway while he and Jason went after each other. _Crap_! She must have freaked out at the sight of the blood gushing from his broken nose . . .

"Elle!"

"What the hell . . .?" Jason was yelling as they both rushed over. "That's not the replacement! You brought your _girlfriend_ with you?"

Dick shoved Jason back as he skidded to a stop at the sight of his unmoving fiancée. He scrambled to her side. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms, but refrained at the last second. She could have something broken. His hands hovered helplessly over her for a minute as he fought to control his initial panicked reaction. Damn, he never lost it like this as a cop or as Nightwing! What was wrong with him?

"Elle, baby? Can you speak to me," he asked, crooning as he pushed back the tumble of her hair.

Her eye was swelling! Why was her eye swelling? Had she actually hit the table with her face?

Jason shoved the table out of the way and kneeled on the other side of her. "What the hell did she think she was doing, jumping on me like that?"

"She was trying to protect me from _you_, asshole," Dick snapped, angry in his fear.

"Protect . . .?" Jason gaped at the two of them. "Since when does the big, bad Nightwing need his girlfriend to protect his ass?"

"She's my fiancée now, idiot, and I don't! But she can't seem to help herself if she thinks I might need a hand," Dick grumbled. He lightly patted her cheek. "She decked Bruce just a couple of weeks ago when we were sparring in the Batcave."

"You're kidding! How'd B take it?" Jason glanced up surprised.

"He told people that he ran into a door trying to find the bathroom while intoxicated," Dick said, flashing him a grin.

"I'm always amazed that people buy his stories," Jason remarked.

"He's been cultivating his ineptness for decades," Dick murmured, as he checked Elle for broken bones. "Damn! How hard did she hit anyway?"

Elle groaned and swatted Dick's hand away. "Ow," she whined, struggling to sit up.

Assured that he wasn't complicating hidden injuries now, Dick scooped her up as Jason shoved his jacket and helmet off of the couch. Instead of laying her down, Dick sat with Elle in his lap. Her eyes still closed, she frowned even as she curled into him.

"Are you okay? Elle? Talk to me, Baby," Dick said as he cuddled her close.

* * *

Jason closed the door finally and then righted his table and chairs. Kicking the remains of the coffee table out of the way, he sat on the arm of the couch with a kitchen towel bunched against his face, and stared at the couple. This was so far from what he had been expecting in the way of the evening's entertainment, he was feeling a little shell-shocked himself. He tossed Dick a second hand towel.

"You're bleeding on her," he said; his voice muffled by the folds of terrycloth. The three of them looked a little worse for wear.

Dick nodded his thanks as he stemmed the flow of blood. "Elle?"

She sighed and looked up. Jason winced. The bruise was beginning to turn black and red, but the swelling wasn't actually obstructing her vision. It looked like she had hit her cheekbone and temple. Guilt swamped him. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He just hadn't realized that it had been Dickface's fiancée that jumped on him.

"I thought you were someone else," he said as a way of an apology.

She stared at him from where she was tucked under Dick's chin. Jason wiped at his nose, grimacing at the amount of blood the towel had absorbed. It was ruined. He only had the two hand towels. He would have to go out and buy a couple more tomorrow. Oh, wait . . . tomorrow was Christmas. Everything would be closed for the winter holiday. The day after tomorrow, then.

Uncomfortable with the unfamiliar feeling of guilt, Jason flared. "What were you thinking, jumping on me like that in the middle of a fight? You could have been hurt far worse, you know!"

Elle's silence was unnerving him.

He glanced up at Dick and noticed that he was walking the edge of a major freak-out. He was murmuring some kind of soft shit into her hair, rubbing her back, and generally acting like a mother bear with her cub. He snorted; earning sharp glance in his direction.

"So, are you . . .?"

Elle's voice was soft and quiet. He almost didn't hear her. Dick held her back so he could look at her now, but she just continued to stare at Jason. He squirmed a little bit.

"Am I what?"

"Are you going to come to dinner with us?"

Jason goggled at her. She just broke up a fight, was thrown across the room hard enough to knock her unconscious for a couple of minutes, and that's the first thing to come out of her mouth?

He choked. "You still want me to," he asked her, astounded. "Even after I just handed your boyfriend his ass?"

Now Elle glanced up at Dick. Amazingly enough, Dickface had calmed down after she started talking. He stopped his stupid crooning and just lifted an eyebrow.

It was Jason's turn to frown. He had the feeling those two were communicating somehow; kind of like how Batman and Robin would in the field. Hell, Bruce and Dickhead could do that across a crowded room. Jason had only just gotten comfortable enough and familiar enough with Bruce that they were developing that ability to communicate without words when Joker had killed him.

He didn't think Dick and Elle had known each other for long enough to be able to do that efficiently.

"Do you two finish each other's sentences, too," he asked sarcastically.

Elle smiled at him. She winced slightly at the pain the expression caused. "You didn't hand him his ass," she remarked. "He wasn't trying to fight you."

Jason looked down at the thoroughly-soaked towel in his hand. "Yeah, right," he snorted again, but managed to not grimace at the pain the action caused him. "If you just wanted me to come to dinner, what was all that talk about me being a wanted man and taking me into the cops?"

"I never said I was taking you to the cops," Dick retorted. "Elle wanted you to join us for Christmas, and I promised her I would try to get you to come."

Jason scowled. "That's not what you said."

Dick shrugged. The asshole. "That was what I meant. You just decided to take it the wrong way."

"Are you blaming me?" Okay, so maybe his voice was rising.

Elle interrupted what was promising to become another fight. "You never answered my question," she reminded him.

"What question was that," he asked, still glaring at Dickhead.

"Are you going to share Christmas with us," she asked calmly. "At the manor. With your family."

Now, she had his attention.

"They aren't my family," he snarled.

"Of course, they are," she insisted.

Jason looked back at Dick; this time curious rather than angry. "How much have you told her? What all does she know?"

Obviously she knew more than was safe if she had been in the Batcave.

"Most of it."

Jason tilted his head, feeling dangerously exposed and hating it. "Most of it?"

"I left out a few of the messier details," Dick replied. He might have been talking about grocery shopping for all the emotion he showed.

Anger flared anew. "What right did you have to share my story . . ."

"Are you coming," Elle asked in the middle of his tirade.

"NO!" He hadn't meant to yell, but now that he had . . . "NO! I'm not going to come over for fucking Christmas! They aren't my fucking family and we aren't going to bond over eggnog and Christmas carols!"

Elle blinked, but didn't cringe as he had expected her to. Not that he actually wanted her to be afraid of him, but . . . _Damn it_! He didn't want her pity or her friendship! He wanted nothing to do with the whole fucking lot of them!

"But your name_ is_ Jason Todd-Wayne, isn't it? Didn't Bruce adopt you, too?"

"What you're talking about . . . that was another life," Jason growled. "That kid is dead and buried!"

"No, he's not," Dick inserted gently.

"What the bloody fuck are you talking about now, Dickhead? Bruce buried me." Jason snapped.

The asshole just looked at him with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah, not literally, obviously," he acceded, although he did so derisively.

"He didn't tell you?" Dick looked at him curiously.

Jason had only been back in Gotham for the last two years. He and Bruce hadn't exactly made time to sit down over a cup of tea. And he and Batman had barely managed an uneasy truce. In fact, Jason hadn't seen Bruce without the cowl, except on the news, since he returned. He didn't trust himself not to shoot the man.

"Guess he'll have to tell me whatever when we have our next heart-to-heart," Jason snarked.

Elle slid off of Dick's lap to sit between the two men. Dick ran his hand through his hair as he struggled with whatever he thought Jason should know. Jason crossed his arms and tried not to care about whatever revelation Dick was planning to lay on him now.

"Jay, Bruce never buried you," Dick began. "I mean, he placed what he thought was your body in the family mausoleum, but he didn't hold a funeral or announce it to anyone."

Shock made Jason's mouth drop open. "W-What?"

His anger, simmering below the surface, blew up, but this time was laced with a hurt he had believed that Bruce was no longer capable of inflicting on him. He especially didn't like realizing that Bruce still retained that kind of power over him.

"Jason, wait! Take it easy," Dick said quickly. "You don't understand why!"

"_WHY_?" Jason jumped up from his perch and threw his arms in the air. "I'll tell you why! He didn't care, that's why! _Nobody_ fucking cared whether I lived or died. If Bruce did have a care, then Joker wouldn't still be alive today! I wasn't important enough for even a fucking funeral!"

Dick threw his bloodied towel down and jumped up, but he made no move toward him. Maybe the golden child was smarter than Jason gave him credit for.

"NO! That isn't the way it happened! Would you just shut up and sit down and let me explain it to you without you jumping to all the wrong conclusions?" Dick yelled back at him.

"What's there left to tell," Jason snarled back. "With me gone, Bruce was free to recruit the replacement. He and Joker could resume their fucked up dance over the corpses of a thousand Gothamites! Everyone is happy!"

"Goddamn it, Jason, that's not true and if you'd stop to think about it for longer than your two-second fuse allows, you'd see it!"

Dick took a step forward in his tirade, and Jason welcomed it. This time he would ship Dick home in a pine box and they would see how the big guy made a show of it when it was his _Golden Child_ that kicked the fucking bucket! He was reaching for his guns before remembering he had taken them off and placed them on the kitchen table. The same kitchen table that had been knocked over. He spotted his holsters laying at the base of the refrigerator.

"Jason, stop . . . Please . . ."

Elle voice was soft; pleading . . . And he found himself turning to look at her.

"_Please_," she repeated, this time holding out her hand. "Don't do this . . ."

The sharp edge of his anger dulled, and he hesitated for a moment.

"There is more to the story than you or I know," Elle was saying. "Please. Sit down long enough to hear it. Don't you want to know the truth?"

His anger eased somewhat. Her voice was calming, but he didn't want to listen to either of them anymore. The stabbing pain in his chest erupted once more.

"I know the truth," he growled. "Time for you to leave now or else have to be removed later."

"Assumptions are not the truth," Elle said. "If no one truly cared, why would we be here?"

Jason paused for a second and then sneered. "Because Dickhead over there is wrapped around your finger."

"Jay, she's right. You don't understand what happened after you were gone."

Dick was calm again. It pissed Jason off that he was the only one raging and out of control. It was Dick's turn to take advantage of the momentary lull.

"Bruce was devastated when you died," Dick told him. "All of us were."

"Yeah. So much so that he tossed my coffin into a tomb and forgot about me." Jason swept a hand over a shelf, sending DVDs and books flying everywhere. "I bet my name's not even listed on the brass plate. Am I right?"

Dick's mouth tightened. "Yes. You're right."

"Fuck!" A second knife joined the first. He turned away from them. He wasn't sure he could control his expressions well enough. Anger was fine, but the pain . . .

"Jason . . . Jay, he couldn't admit you were gone."

"Didn't want to admit he had failed again and this time Robin was the one who paid the price . . ." He was proud and relieved that his voice didn't shake. He sounded angry; only angry.

"No! He . . . If he buried you; if he gave you a funeral, announced it in the papers and in the news, it would have made it real. Too real. Despite what you think, Jay, Bruce loved you; loves you still in his own screwed up way. He told people that you were going to school abroad as a way to explain your absence. It was only supposed to be temporary, though; until he could work through the worst of his grief . . ."

"I was gone for almost three years," Jason reminded him.

"Jay, this is _Bruce_ we're talking about here," Dick retorted. "He doesn't handle grief well. Hell, he doesn't handle grief at all! I mean, look what happened after his parents died."

Elle's quiet voice broke the silence that followed that statement. "He became a bat."

Jason's bark of laughter came from nowhere and startled all three of them. She was right! Bruce handled grief and pain so badly that he dressed up like a fucking bat every night and has been terrorizing criminals for the better part of two decades!

Jason looked behind him and saw Dick smiling. Their eyes met and both of them started laughing.

"He became a bat," Dick repeated when he could catch his breath.

Jason hooted. "He became a goddamn _bat_!"

When things calmed down, Jason had to admit he was feeling a little bit better. The pain and anger were still there. It took more than Dick's revelation to erase the hurt that had been festering for the past five years, but the sharp edges of it had dulled. The fight, the yelling, and especially the laughter; it had helped. He no longer felt the urge to kill the golden child anyway. He was pretty sure it would return soon enough, but at the moment, Dickiebird could live to see another day.

Elle smiled at him when she asked yet again, "So, are you coming with us?"

Jason had to admit that he missed Alfred's cooking almost enough to shove his hard feelings into his back pocket just for a chance to eat one of his meals, but to give in after all of this . . . He sighed, rubbing his neck.

If she didn't look so damned hopeful . . .

_Where did Dick find this chick_?

"Not tonight," he said, finally. "No really," he assured them when both opened their mouths to protest. "Not tonight. Maybe . . ." Was he really going to say this? "Maybe tomorrow."

"Really?" Dick's mouth dropped open in shock.

Jason smirked. It was almost worth it to see that look on Dickface.

"Really?" Elle looked happy. She was apparently taking his 'maybe' for a 'definitely'.

"I said, _maybe_! No promises," he grumbled. He rolled his eyes at their hopeful expressions. "Honestly, how's it going to look to have some nobody showing up on Christmas Day?"

"But you're not some nobody," Elle argued. "You're family!"

"Jason Todd is dead," he reminded her, albeit gently this time.

"No, he's not," Dick said. "Jason Todd-Wayne is still alive. You can walk right back into your old life without any problem! Bruce never got around to declaring you dead. He kept putting it off longer and longer, as if by not admitting it, he could pretend you weren't gone."

Jason blinked. "I'm alive . . ."

Dick was grinning now. "Yep! And you're still one of Bruce's adopted sons."

Elle grinned next. "So, you two really are brothers!"

Jason gaped at her. **_Brothers_?**

"Wait! _What_?" He goggled at them.

Dick shrugged. "Bruce adopted me three years ago. He adopted Tim the year before that after his parents were killed. You have brothers now."

"And that demon brat that's wearing that weird-ass version of the Robin costume? His name is Wayne, too, I heard. Bruce adopted him as well?" Jason hadn't cared to look too deeply into what was happening at the manor. He had assumed that his replacement had sucked so badly that Bruce went looking for another kid.

"Actually, Damian's the real deal," Dick smirked. "His mother is Talia."

Jason choked. "Bruce and Talia . . . as in Talia al Ghul?"

Dick laughed. "Obviously you need to find better sources of information."

Jason frowned at him. "I do alright. I just wasn't interested in learning all about my replacement's replacement."

Elle looked thoughtful. "If Dick was the first Robin, wouldn't that make you _his_ replacement? Then Damian would be the replacement's replacement's replacement."

Jason stared at her. Turning suddenly on his heel, he marched into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of extra-strength pain relievers out of the cabinet.

"This is giving me a headache," he muttered. _Brothers_ . . . "Does Bruce even know you're here?"

"He gave us his blessing before we came," Dick smiled conspiratorially at Elle, but Jason's back was still turned so that he didn't see it. "We'd better be going. Alfred's going to have a fit, holding dinner for us for so long. You sure you don't want to come with? We set a place out for you."

"Nah! I'm fine here," Jason muttered. He dug out a carton of milk to take his aspirin with. He'd probably choke on them if he took them dry after the day's revelations. He needed to think about this, and he couldn't do that at the manor.

"Please. I hope you come tomorrow," Elle told him, and then added, "I bought you a gift."

Jason blinked. She bought him a . . . He glanced at the clock. He couldn't imagine she had had the time to buy one today.

That meant . . . she had planned to see him at Christmas before now. Must have been after they had been introduced last week, he decided. But he hadn't been at the party long enough for her to get to know him. Jason couldn't help wondering what kind of gift she could have possibly picked out for him.

_Maybe Dickweed had helped her pick something out_ . . . Of course, he wasn't the same person he had been five years ago.

"Uh, yeah, sure . . .," he stammered.

When she brightened visibly, Jason quickly added a "maybe," caveat. The light in her face dimmed, but only slightly.

_She seems to radiate light just like the golden child_, he thought as he closed his door behind them and their ridiculous Christmas wishes. He wondered what everyone's reaction would be when the two of them showed up for the dinner sporting a broken nose and black eyes. He almost wished he had went with them to witness it. He moved into the kitchen to retrieve his guns. He might need them later if the rest of the family took exception.

Jason walked back over to the couch and picked the remote off of the floor. He finished kicking the coffee table remains to the side and sat down; flicking on the television as he laid his weapons beside him. Some lame Christmas movie was playing, but it could have been anything for all that Jason was aware of it.

He had brothers . . . _Damn_.

* * *

**REACTIONS? I really, really want to know . . .**

**Ages in this: Alfred is 64; Bruce is 40; Dick is 24; Jason is 21, Tim is 18; Damian is 11 . . . Elle is 23.**

**A big thank you to all my readers! We have now hit 30,000 views as of 10-12-15 (The date that this chapter was published!) How exciting! You guys make it all worth while . . . To think this story would have sat in my computer without anyone reading it but me if not for Fan Fiction and all of you! But we aren't done yet - Not by a long shot! I've got enough plot for two more sequels; and this story has many more chapters to go yet as well.**


	67. Traditions, or Lack Thereof

**Hopefully there aren't too many typos. I don't have time to edit right now, and the chapter isn't pulling up for me anyway. I'll be back tonight to run over it and fix any problems. I hope you enjoy it in the meantime anyway! :D Happy Reading!**

**Warning: There might be a word or two . . .**

* * *

"Maybe they won't notice . . ."

Dick's mouth tightened as he gently rubbed a little of Alfred's bruising crème on her cheekbone. She knew she was full of it, even as she said it. While she might . . . _might _get by with pulling her hair forward, there was no not noticing Dick's broken nose. It was crooked; and swollen; and black, blue, and red with the bruising extending outward underneath both eyes; giving him the appearance of a raccoon. It would have been kind of cute if it hadn't looked so painful.

Knowing that it hurt made Elle wish she had done more damage to Jason than she had. Which, in truth, had been close to nothing. Jason had admitted to only a little bit of ringing in his ear. She decided that she must not have done it correctly.

Elle sighed. She was going to have to take her training more seriously if ever she hoped to help Dick in another situation like this.

_Oh, Lord, what am I thinking_? She had no business trying to help Dick in situations like this. Just look what a fiasco this night had turned out to be!

Dick pulled back at her wincing, believing he had hurt her, but really it was only her own thoughts that had her grimacing.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"You didn't hurt me," Elle tried to reassure him. He didn't look like he believed her though.

"Oh, they're so going to notice," he muttered under his breath.

Elle made a sympathetic face as she cupped his jaw. "Are you okay? That looks like it hurts . . . a LOT." She decided not to mention the faint whistling noise he made when he breathed.

"I've had worse," he scoffed.

Elle looked horrified. "You have?"

"This is the third time my nose has been broken," he told her. His nasally tone made it sound as if he had a bad cold. Dick touched the side of it ruefully. "But this is the first time it's going to have to be straightened."

"Oh . . . Well, shit," Elle whispered at that ugly thought.

Dick laughed, and then groaned. "Stop! Don't make me laugh," he complained, grinning.

"I wasn't trying to," she huffed, sadly. "I just feel so bad for you."

"Not for yourself, though?" Dick pushed back her hair again to eye the damage she had taken.

They had determined that it hadn't been the table that had been the culprit; Elle's elbow and hip and taken the brunt of that impact. It had been the chair that had struck her face when it had fallen on her that had caused Elle's injury. The heavy metal frame that made up the chair support had hit her with enough force to cause her to black out momentarily.

She shrugged. "I'll probably feel it more tomorrow," she admitted, touching the swollen area lightly with her fingers. "I've had worse myself. This is nothing."

Dick's entire demeanor changed with her confession. His face darkened, and despite his comically-misshapen nose, he suddenly appeared dangerous.

"Did your brother . . ." he snarled.

"No! No," she interrupted that line of thought quickly. "I was talking about the accident."

Dick face morphed into an expression of sympathy. Elle only felt a little twinge of guilt at the lie.

Yes, the accident had been much worse, but she _had_ been referring to numerous altercations she had had with Aiden throughout the years. But Dick didn't need to know about that. The tension between her brother and Dick was already volatile enough the way it was, what with Aiden's unsubtle threats hovering in the air.

Elle had a pretty good idea of what her brother was capable of, and she didn't want Dick to go after him and draw Aiden's wrath onto himself. Sure, her bondmate was Nightwing, but Aiden had so many ways in which he could draw blood; not all of them were in the literal sense. She worried that Aiden would pull some strings and get Dick fired or worse, framed as a dirty cop.

No, she decided. It was better if she handled Aiden.

Oddly enough, her father's bequest to her had given her the leverage to do just that. It was a realization she had only just discovered in one of her meetings with her lawyers. Elle was no longer going to fight having the company thrust upon her. She could hire someone to handle the day-to-day business of it, but in the meantime, it gave her the equal footing she needed to take on Aiden one-on-one.

She had yet to tell Dick about all of her plans, but wouldn't he be surprised to learn that she had already updated her will in such a way that would keep the company forever out of Aiden's hands. But this was Christmas! Not the time to bring all that up. Sitting in the car in the crappy part of town wasn't the place for it either.

Uncomfortable with where their conversation was heading, Elle changed the subject.

"Shouldn't we get back? We are already more than an hour late," she remarked.

"Ugh! Don't remind me. Alfred's going to have my head," Dick groaned. He tugged out his Bluetooth and tucked it in his ear. "I better give them a call."

"Don't worry about Alfred. I doubt he would want your head tonight," Elle smirked. "It's not as pretty as it usually is."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm ugly now?"

Elle laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek; careful to avoid his currently oversized schnoz. "You will _always_ be beautiful to me," she assured him sincerely.

"Beautiful . . ." he sighed dramatically; rolling his eyes as he cued in the number for the manor.

She laughed again as he put the car in gear and they pulled out onto the relatively empty streets. Most everyone was already somewhere on Christmas Eve.

* * *

Dinner was over by the time they arrived back at the manor. Dick and Elle had insisted that they not hold dinner for them. They made themselves plates of leftovers and joined everyone in the living room around the Christmas tree as soon as they got back.

"I told you Jason wouldn't come," Damian smirked, sending a conspiratorial look in Tim's direction.

"No one likes hearing 'I told you so,' Damian," Bruce admonished.

The boy didn't appear to be overly worried about it, however. Too pleased, Dick suspected, that Jason hadn't been with them when they arrived.

"He said he might show up tomorrow," Elle told him.

"Really?" Tim looked startled.

"He may change his mind, but Elle coaxed a maybe out of him," Dick announced.

"How did she do that? Beat him with your face," Damian snarked, looking pointedly at Dick's nose.

Alfred had been busy cleaning up the dinner dishes when they arrived, so Bruce had done the honors of snapping Dick's nose back into place as Dick sat on a barstool. He would have preferred Alfred to do it than Bruce, but admitted that it probably would have hurt the same amount no matter who had done the deed. Alfred would have at least made sympathy noises, though. Bruce . . . Eh, not so much.

"No, I kind of guilted him into it," Elle commented lightly.

"I don't understand," Bruce told her.

"Jason wouldn't have cared that he broke Dick's nose," Tim remarked. "Not enough that you could guilt him into doing anything he didn't want to do."

"Oh! Um . . . well, that is . . ." she sent a panicked look over Dick's way.

Dick sighed. "You might as well give it up. It's only a matter of time before they find out anyway. And it's better if it happens tonight rather than tomorrow if Jason decides to show up."

Elle's eyes widened as Dick tucked her hair behind her ear; revealing the ever-widening bruise. Although the swelling hadn't gotten any worse, the bruise now extended along her temple and cheekbone and into her hairline. It framed the corner of her eye in a way that would have been impossible to hide in brighter light. The fact that the living room was lit only by the light extending from the hallway and from the Christmas tree had left just enough shadows for her to effectively hide it until now.

"Elle was accidentally hit by a chair," Dick explained.

"What," Bruce gaped.

"It was an _accident_," he stressed again.

She had been successful so far in hiding her own injury by pulling her hair forward on that side, but then again, no one would have expected Jason taking out his anger on her, so no one had been looking.

"How can you hit someone with a chair by accident," Bruce growled. He stood up and moved to Elle's side to better inspect it.

"Not with a chair," Dick corrected. "_By_ a chair."

"There's a difference?" Tim asked.

"It was all my fault," she admitted quickly; embarrassed.

"Your fault? I wasn't born yesterday, missy," Bruce snapped. He glanced at Dick. "The truth, now!"

Elle 'eeped' a little as Bruce's temper flared unexpectedly. She glanced hurriedly at Dick with wide eyes.

"When Jason punched me in the nose, Elle jumped on his back," he explained calmly. One would never have guessed from his present demeanor exactly how upset he had been at the time. He wanted to defuse the sudden tension in the room.

"Jason hadn't realized that Elle was with me because I had asked her to wait in the hall. We got into it when he had mistakenly taken exception to something I had said. When Elle jumped on him from behind in the heat of things, Jason had assumed that she was Tim. So, he threw her over his shoulder and across the kitchen table," he told them, uneasily.

No one said anything; apparently finding it totally reasonable for Jason to take offense and go rabid. Dick hadn't found it out of character either, actually. It had been the basis for his earlier argument that Elle stay behind.

Bruce tsked, as he moved back to his chair. "Better have Alfred take a look at that."

"You really jumped on his back," Damian asked her, impressed.

"Not my best idea," Elle admitted. "And when I slid off of the other side, the table and chair fell with me, and the chair hit me in the face." Elle admitted.

"And you," Bruce pointed a finger at Elle. "You will need to step up your training if you keep inserting yourself into volatile situations."

Dick objected. "She's not going to do this again."

Bruce leveled a look at him. "Really? She's already done this twice now. How do you propose to stop her?"

"I won't do it again," Elle promised.

Bruce hummed, but didn't look as if he believed her. Tim, however, was staring at her; his face pale. Dick knew that he was obviously thinking what might have happened had he gone to Jason's with Dick instead of Elle. What might happen still if Jason decided to show up the next day.

"You should have ice on this," Bruce was grumbling. "Damian . . ."

"Going, Father," Damian jumped up.

Dick was certain the boy was anxious to share the news with Alfred; undoubtedly to place his spin on it in order to influence the butler's objectivity in what the boy would deem the '_proper_' direction. Luckily, Alfred, although bound to be concerned, would take the news with a grain of salt when he considered the source of the information. He would wait to make judgment until he had confirmed all his facts.

They needed to smooth things over before tomorrow. If the family laid into Jason because of Elle's injury, they would never get him to come back again.

* * *

"So," Elle began, smiling brightly. "What kind of traditions to you have at Wayne Manor?"

Everyone stared at her.

"Traditions," Tim asked. "What do you mean?"

Her smile dimmed somewhat as she looked around at the blank faces. Even Dick was staring at her curiously.

"What do you do on Christmas Eve each year?" Why was this so difficult for them to understand?

Bruce pursed his lips but said nothing. Damian ran back in with an ice pack which he thrust into Elle's hands.

"What'd I miss? Are we going over to Todd's and kicking his . . ." Damian glanced over his shoulder to find that Alfred had followed him back. "um . . . butt," he finished lamely; cringing somewhat at the raised eyebrow of the formidable butler.

"No one's kicking anyone's butt tonight," Bruce told him.

"Elle was asking about our Christmas Eve traditions," Tim supplied helpfully.

"Huh," Damian grunted. "We had dinner together . . . Or we would have if you two had made it back in time instead getting pummeled by Todd. Really, Grayson, I can't believe you allowed him to punch you in the face." He shook his head, obviously disappointed.

"It wasn't exactly intentional, Dami," Dick told him.

Elle raised an embarrassed hand. "Um, that was kind of my fault, too. I distracted Dick when I showed up in the doorway unexpectedly. I was supposed to wait and I didn't. Although, in my defense, it was hard to ignore the sounds of breaking furniture. Still . . . I'm sorry," she leaned over to give Dick a kiss on the jaw at the end of her admission.

"I already forgave you," Dick smiled and took her hand. He leaned over and gave her a proper kiss.

They suddenly remembered where they were when Damian began making gagging noises. They parted, blushing.

"Sorry," Elle murmured.

She blushed deeper when she saw everyone staring with different expressions ranging from Bruce's amused tolerance, Tim's disgruntlement, Damian's disgust, and Alfred's usual British stoicism . . . Or perhaps that was the Brit's look of approval. It was really difficult to tell with the Englishman.

"If it doesn't disturb you, Miss Arabella, I would like to see the extent of your injury," Alfred said after clearing his throat discreetly.

Elle blinked up at him. "Oh, o-okay," she stammered. People were really making a big fuss over something that would likely be gone by morning. "Might as well. Everyone else seems to have taken a turn."

"Alfred is an experienced field medic," Bruce told her.

Oh, well, that made sense. Batman probably needed someone to look after his injuries after a rough patrol. She tilted her face to give the gentleman's gentleman the best view. Everyone was silent as Alfred gently prodded the swelling and critiqued her bruises. She had noticed bruises on her elbow and hip from where she hit the table while in the bathroom when they had first arrived, but Elle had no intention of showing those off to anyone. They would go away as quickly as the one on her face, after all.

Alfred rose up after his inspection. "It doesn't appear to be serious. Application of an ice pack and some of my bruising crème should be all you need," he announced to the room in general.

Elle bit her lip to keep in her amusement. Everyone present seemed to take this very seriously. They probably wouldn't share her flippant attitude, but neither did they share her speedy healing abilities. She obediently applied the ice pack to her cheek as Dick assured the butler that he had already administered the crème as directed.

"Now," she said, in order to get things back on track. "About these traditions . . . Or lack thereof."

Bruce rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, much as Dick sometimes did. So that was where he had picked up, she thought amused.

"Well, I think Damian covered it rather well, although there have been a few years that we attended Christmas Eve parties," Bruce was saying.

Elle looked a little surprised. "Dinner together is your only tradition?" She sighed, slumping. "Terrific. And I managed to screw that up for you."

"Don't feel too bad," Tim rushed to reassure her. "It isn't like we've haven't had numerous dinners interrupted before."

Slapping her legs, she came to a decision. "Well, I think it's time you adopted another tradition or two this year," she declared.

Everyone looked at Dick, and he laughed, holding up his hands helplessly. "Don't look at me," he said. "I have no idea what she's thinking!"

"We can do some of the things we do when I spend Christmas with my grandparents." Elle stood up. "My nonno's family often come over on Christmas Eve and we have an evening of music and games."

There was an exchange of uncomfortable glances, before Dick asked her what everyone was thinking. "What _kind_ of music and games?"

Luckily, having his nose straightened and his own ice pack supplied, Dick's voice was back to it's normal wonderful baritone. He'd need it for what she had planned.

Elle laughed at him. "Christmas music, of course, silly. But we can do other types of music, too, if you prefer. Now, hang on," she told the others. She grabbed Dick's arm and pulled him up. "I'm going to need you, though. Come with me."

* * *

They watched the two of them run out of the room.

"Well, _that_ seems kind of ominous," Tim murmured.

"Nonsense, Master Timothy," Alfred told him. "It has been far too long since music has been an integral part of this house."

"I don't get it," Damian frowned. "What is she talking about?"

Tim supplied the information. "I think Elle wants to sing Christmas carols."

"Who's Carole," he asked.

Bruce chuckled. "Carols are songs, Damian. Elle plans to sing Christmas carols for us."

Dick and Elle rushed back into the room at that point as Alfred excused himself to get a tray of beverages.

"Actually, I was thinking we could _all_ sing Christmas carols," Elle announced suddenly. "I already know Dick can sing."

She was carrying a mike and a long cord in one hand and in the other she held a guitar. Dick followed her in carrying a large piece of electronic equipment. Tim jumped up to help make room for it, moving a potted poinsettia from a side table onto the floor.

"I think we might need an extension cord," Dick told him, and Tim rushed out of the room to retrieve the necessary item.

Elle set the guitar down by her seat in the love seat. She handed Dick the mike and its cord for him to attach.

"I want to grab a couple more things," Elle said. "Damian, you can help me this time."

"What is that," Bruce asked leaning forward. "A speaker of some sort?"

Dick grinned. "It's a karaoke machine," he told him. "Elle brought it with us. It plays music so you can sing with it. It also puts up the words of the song on this screen so you can follow along."

"So, she's serious about this," Bruce murmured.

"What's the matter, Bruce? I've seen you face off with the Joker with less trepidation," Dick laughed.

"Have you never heard me sing?" he asked.

Dick paused, thinking. "Actually, I think I have. But it was so long ago that I don't remember if it was real or a dream."

"Was it good singing or bad singing?"

He smiled. "It wasn't that bad," he said.

"Hmph," Bruce grunted. "Then it was probably a dream."

Dick was laughing when Tim rushed back in with the extension cord. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he told him. "I'm just thinking that tonight will be the most interesting Christmas that I can remember having here."

"It should be," Elle said as she and Damian came back in carrying a small electric piano and . . .

Bruce squinted. _Were those maracas_? He tugged at his collar as he glanced at the fireplace. _Was it getting too hot in here_?

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**I would love to be a fly on the wall on this particular night.**


	68. A Very Karaoke Christmas - Pt 1

**Warning: Some mild language . . .**

* * *

"So, who's willing to go first," Elle asked, cheerfully.

If it weren't too cold for crickets, she could have probably heard them chirping at this point. She looked around at the men who make up the Bat Clan, and felt the realization slowly dawning on her that the bravest men she knew were chickenshit when it came to karaoke! The one thing of which she was certain was that _she_ could not go first or no one else would follow and this would become all about her.

"Seriously . . .?" She stared at them. "It's not difficult. The screen puts up the words and there's this little bouncing ball that goes along lighting up the words in the rhythm you are supposed to sing to."

Silence reigned . . .

"Are you kidding me?" Elle glanced at Dick. He smiled back sheepishly, but didn't volunteer. She appealed to the others. "It's just a game! Really, it's a lot of fun! The Japanese do this all the time!"

Dick cleared his throat. "They also do this in bars," he reminded her. "With lots and lots of alcohol."

"Why don't you go first and demonstrate how it's done," Bruce suggested to Elle slyly.

She gave him a look that spoke very clearly that she was onto him.

"Alfred, can you get me some scrap paper and a couple of pens?" Elle turned to Dick. "I need a hat."

"I'll get it," Damian volunteered and dashed off.

In a few minutes, Tim and Bruce were tearing up pieces of paper as Elle and Dick wrote on them. Damian came in with a baseball cap.

"Will this do," he asked.

"It will be perfect," she assured him.

When the boy started to move off, Dick snatched him up and settled him on the floor between his and Elle's feet. The fact that he settled in so quickly and quietly told Elle that he was extremely satisfied with his new position. She was smiling as she finished scribbling on the last square of paper.

She dumped the first pile of notes into the baseball cap.

"Okay, gentlemen," she told them. "This is how we are going to do this. You will each take two pieces of paper. You can share what you get or you can keep them to yourselves."

She passed the hat to Tim who sat in the chair on the other side of her. Obediently, if reluctantly, Tim dipped his hand into the hat and took the required pieces of paper. He passed the hat to Bruce before reading the notes. He chose to keep silent.

Bruce took his pieces with a small sigh. The man was highly intelligent. He already knew how this was going to work, and seemed to accept his fate. He passed the hat to Alfred who proceeded to pass the hat back to Dick.

"Oh no, Alfred," Dick cried. "You are an integral part of this family. We couldn't function without you. You have to take two pieces of paper as well."

"My job is to serve the beverages and snacks," Alfred corrected him; pushing the hat back in his direction.

"Huh uh," Tim spoke up. "If I have to, then so do you."

"Dick's right, Alfred," Bruce declared authoritatively. "You are as much a part of this family as anyone else here. You must participate with us."

Elle smiled at him encouragingly. "Please, Alfred? It wouldn't be the same without you."

The butler's shoulders seemed to slump even as he appeared pleased with the assurances of his place within this odd, little family. "Very well," he yielded graciously; taking a slip from the hat. "But only one."

Thrilled that Alfred joined in without a fuss, no one complained as Dick took the hat and his two pieces of paper. He held the cap as Damian picked out two.

"Wait! There aren't any more pieces left for Elle," Damian frowned. "You need two pieces, too!"

Elle grinned as she scooped the second pile into the hat. "I don't need any, Damian," she assured him. "I have no problem singing for all of you. And I won't be picking any of these either. I will go last. Choose only one piece this time around," she instructed. "You go first this time, Dami."

And around the ball cap went. Elle took the emptied cap from Tim and placed it on Damian's head; tugging the bill down over his eyes, playfully. Damian shoved the cap back; glaring up at Elle for a second before a smirk lifted the side of his mouth. She shoved his shoulder with her knee, and earned a giggle. It was quickly aborted, but she had heard it nonetheless and felt her heart lift in pleasure.

"All right," she declared with a happy smile. "Who has number one?"

Tim glumly raised up his slip of paper.

"Choose one of the songs on one of your other two slips of paper," Elle told him.

Tim studied the two songs for a moment, before handing one of the other slips to Elle. She looked at it, and smiled as she ran through a list of songs on the USB she had inserted into the karaoke machine.

"This is one of my favorites," she announced as she turned the machine toward him so that Tim could read the lyrics. She offered him the microphone. "You don't have to use the mike if you don't want to, but you have to sing loud enough for all of us to hear."

Tim took the mike from her, but let it dangle from his hands. He nodded, looking, for all the world, like he was facing his own death.

Elle giggled at his discomfort, and nudged him lightly. "Come on," she coaxed. "It won't be so bad."

He sighed. "Whatever you say," he mumbled.

The music started, and although he fumbled the first couple of words, Tim began to sing The Christmas Song.

**"_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . Jack Frost nipping at your nose. _**

**_Yuletide carols being sung by a choir . . . And folks dressed up like Eskimos. _**

**_Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe . . . Help to make the season bright. _**

**_Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow . . . Will find it hard to sleep tonight."_**

Elle's breath caught in her throat at Tim's pure, clear, tenor voice. Every note was sung in perfect pitch. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment although he had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.

Taking pity on him, Elle began singing with him in harmony. Tim looked a little startled, but a slight smile appeared as his solo became a duet. His cheeks brightened for a second, but then slowly the blush faded as he became more comfortable singing in front of the small group.

She let him sing another few lines of the song solo again, and this time he managed without the previous shyness. Then she came in again to sing with him for the song's ending.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone broke out in applause! Tim's blush was back, but it was accompanied by a large grin.

"I had no idea you could sing," Bruce exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically.

"That was marvelous," Alfred beamed.

"I didn't know you had it in you," Dick laughed.

Damian didn't say anything, but he clapped slowly with an odd expression on his face. He looked up at Elle. "Is that how it's supposed to go?"

"Yes, that how it goes," she grinned at him, but also recognized his nervous look. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear. "I know this is your first time, Damian, so don't worry about singing by yourself. I'll sing it with you. I realize you may not know these songs. You can choose something that someone else sings first if you like; that way you'll know how it goes."

"I don't know if I can sing like Drake, though," he told her softly.

"You don't have to sing like Tim," Elle assured him. "Honestly, part of the fun is when people get flustered and screw up, or when they can't sing at all. A lot of people will just make up the words and don't even bother to follow the bouncing dot. It can be very funny, and this is about having fun. No one will tease you about it afterwards."

"Drake . . ." he started.

"Tim won't tease you, I promise," she told him. "If he does, I'll punch him in the arm as hard as I can."

As far as threats went, it was sad, but it satisfied Damian enough that he didn't look so pale anymore.

"So, who's up next," she asked.

* * *

Bruce sighed, and held up his paper. Elle smiled widely at him as she took the slip that had the song of choice on it and exchanged it for a microphone. He looked at it in horror and held it away from him as if it were an angry snake.

Thankfully, Elle didn't correct him, but just did her little adjustment of the karaoke machine and a few seconds later it was spitting out the beginning notes of the song he was to sing. He couldn't make himself start, however.

"Ah, this is a bad idea," he muttered, and frowned as the mike still picked up his voice from so far away.

Elle stopped the music and looked at him.

"Mr. Wayne . . ."

"Bruce, Elle," he reminded her again. "You are a part of the family now. You can call me Bruce."

"Bruce," she said, not unkindly. "Who told you that you couldn't sing?"

His eyes looked up at Alfred and he felt his cheeks begin to burn. "Ah, well, you wouldn't know her . . ."

Alfred took pity and explained. "There was an unfortunate incident that happened when Master Bruce was in middle school."

"Shannon Miller," Bruce blurted. "Her name was Shannon Miller."

Elle's face hardened and her tone was clipped. "Shannon Miller was wrong," she snapped. "_Everyone_ can sing! Everyone has the right to sing, no matter their talent. Singing is making a joyful noise, and that is all it is. To tell someone that they cannot express their emotions in song should be a crime."

Dick looked at her startled. In fact, they all did.

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about it," Bruce said, putting all their thoughts into words. "I thought since you were such a connoisseur of music, that you wouldn't enjoy hearing it done so poorly. One would think that forcing others to listen to a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard would be the crime."

"Is _that_ what she told you," Elle asked him angrily. "Music is the voice of the soul. Singing is the cry of the heart. It is a requirement to a healthy life. You hear terms like "music calms the savage beast," and "music is the universal language," and it tells you that it transcends the barriers between cultures, species, and even worlds. One does not have to do it well for it to have power."

Bruce blinked as she inadvertently reminded him that Elle's voice had power. He knew that even by simply speaking she could influence a room and ease tensions. Although he knew he was correct when he told her once that some people seem to be more affected than others, but everyone was affected in some way. Even him. Initially, he had been concerned, but later realized that her influence on him was small and subtle and he could override it if necessary. She couldn't prevent his emotions, merely encourage certain ones over others, and she did it unconsciously.

The truth was, she calmed him. Her voice relaxed him as few things in this world could do. Perhaps he should be more concerned, but he found he enjoyed her company, and she certainly was very good for Dick.

_Good for the family_, he thought, glancing at Tim and Damian who were on a roll for the number of days that they hadn't had a physical fight. He could start counting it from the day Dick had brought her home.

The boys still snarked at one another, but their comments seemed to no longer hold much in the way of malice. The words themselves weren't as goading or as hurtful anymore. Sometimes, Bruce thought he could even hear a note of playfulness in their teasing remarks to one another.

No, the boys were actually getting along together, even when Elle wasn't present. If appeared that her influence lingered even after she was gone. Perhaps if she used this ability, subtle though it was, for evil . . . Bruce watched her and shook his head. He couldn't imagine it. He could sense no evil in her; only a heartfelt need to help and heal. She brought laughter and music back into the manor.

Bruce had believed until recently that only Dick had held that talent. A smile curved his lips . . . It would appear that he still did. He had brought them Elle, after all.

And Jason . . .

If the prodigal son returned as Elle predicted on the morrow . . . Bruce discovered another ability the young woman possessed; one that instilled hope to those around her. For the first time, Bruce had found a flicker of hope that his family, his sons, would be reunited and maybe . . . If they were lucky, finally be healed.

Bruce broke off from his thoughts to find the room was staring at him.

"What?"

Dick's lips quirked up, amused. "We were wondering if you were actually going to sing or not, or if Shannon Miller had managed what no other villain in Gotham City has ever been able to accomplish."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow and frowned. "And what is that?"

Tim tilted his head and grinned. "Did she cow the Batman?"

"I was thirteen," Bruce quipped. "I wasn't Batman then."

Dick shook his head sadly. "Answer the question, Bruce. Did Shannon Miller beat you?"

Bruce huffed, offended. "Put on the song," he commanded.

* * *

He had only sang once voluntarily since Shannon Miller had cruelly remarked upon his voice when Bruce had been in the midst of puberty. As an adult, he knew that his voice had been in the middle of changing when she had first made fun of him, but it had prevented him from ever singing in public again.

There had only been one exception; on that first night that Dick had spent in the manor, so many years ago, Bruce sang. The nightmare had been horrific and the boy had been traumatized not only from watching his family die, but also for several weeks after when CPS decided the safest place for a small child who was the sole witness in the murder case of his parents was in a detention center.

That night Dick had screamed the house down. Bruce had just gone to bed himself when he had heard the boy. He still remembered how the sound had sent terror through his own heart enough that he had nearly torn the door off of the hinges in his efforts to get to Dick and protect him from what he was sure had been Zucco's men come to silence the boy.

But it had only been a nightmare.

Dick had been inconsolable. Bruce had difficulty in rousing him from his night terrors, and in desperation, fell back on a memory of his mother singing to him once as a boy. He hadn't been thinking of Shannon Miller then, only of calming the child in his arms when he began singing a lullaby from his happier childhood.

It had worked. After a couple of stanzas the sobs had quieted to a few watery hiccups, and shortly thereafter Dick had fallen back into sleep; somehow comforted by the warbling notes of his guardian/benefactor. He had still suffered nightmares in the months and even years ahead, but never had Bruce been forced to resort to singing again in order to calm him.

He had just been surprised to hear tonight that Dick actually remembered it.

_It wasn't that bad,_ Dick had said.

* * *

The music began and Bruce cleared his throat nervously.

"**_Silent night . . . Holy night. All is calm. All is bright . . ._**

**_Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild._**

**_Sleep in heavenly peace; Sleep in heavenly peace . . ."_**

Bruce's voice wasn't bad. In fact, he could carry a tune very well. Not perfectly as Tim or as well as Dick, but his deep baritone was soothing. On the second verse, Elle opened her mouth to bring in some harmony when Alfred beat her to it. His voice was lower than Tim's, perhaps a second tenor but the impromptu duet was actually very well done to Elle's ears. She could see emotion spreading across Bruce's face and knew enough about him now to realize he wasn't aware of it.

**"_Silent night . . . Holy night. Son of God, love's pure light._**

**_Radiant beams from Thy holy face. With the dawn of redeeming grace._**

**_Jesus, Lord at Thy birth. Jesus, Lord at They birth . . ."_**

At the third verse, Elle joined in and was thrilled when Tim and Dick did as well. This was what she had been hoping for when she had decided to load the Karaoke machine into the car with everything else. Damian gaped at all of them, but surprisingly didn't sneer at their performance; instead, just listened with rapt attention.

**"_Silent night . . . Holy night. Shepherds quake . . . at the sight._**

**_Glories stream from heaven afar . . . Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia._**

**_Christ, the Savior, is born. Christ, the Savior, is born . . ."_**

They repeated the first verse together and on the last sentence, let Bruce finish the song alone. Silence followed for an entire minute as the family basked in the true spirit of the holiday.

Damian's horrified voice broke through the quiet. "_You can't be serious_! You don't really expect me to do **_that_**, do you, Hamilton?"

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**I couldn't resist a little flashback. Does anyone else find it utterly adorable that Bruce would sing to little, 8 year old Dick? **

**This isn't the only time I've had Bruce sing a lullaby to Dick, but it's the only time in this particular AU. **

**"Silent Night" was** **composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber to lyrics by Joseph Mohr in the small town of Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria (according to Wikipedia). Nope! Do not own it!**

**"The Christmas Song" was ****written in 1945 by Bob Wells and Mel Tormé. Thank you, Wikipedia . . . I do not own this one either. **


	69. A Very Karaoke Christmas - Pt 2

**Thank you for being so patient with me. I finished up another story, and can now turn my attentions back to Dick and Elle for the holidays. (Oh, I still have other things I'm working on, but I am determined that we shall finish up with Christmas, and hopefully New Year's BEFORE the same holidays arrive for us!)**

**These next few chapters are all about fun and family. Enjoy, because the New Year will be bringing angst and great excitement and some MAJOR trouble with a capital "T" for the newly-engaged couple. - The better for you (and Dick and Elle) to appreciate the happier, more carefree moments!**

**As usual, I do not own Batman or any corresponding characters. Those are DC's (and maybe Warner Bros.). There are two songs mentioned below. I own neither of them and give credit where it is due in the A/N following the chapter. Look up the videos I mention to go audibly with the chapter.**

**Only the original character, Arabella "Elle" Hamilton, (and a few other OCs) belongs to me and the twisted, quirky plot . . . Not sure what DC would think of it. (Don't think I'll bring it up - They might sue me! :P Yikes!) Forgive any editing mistakes I've might have made. I usually reread this thing several times before publishing, and again afterwards, and still several things will manage to slip by me.**

**Warning: Some Language (Damian, of course! Gotta love him!)**

* * *

"Honey, you don't need to take it so hard," Elle told him.

Suddenly this didn't seem like it was so great of an idea. Damian was standing up and trying to walk out of the living room. How was she to know? Everyone could usually sing a little bit. His voice wasn't all that bad . . . Okay, maybe it was. Elle sighed.

"It's more than likely that you just don't know the songs well enough," she explained. "If you listened to music more, learned the melody and the words . . ."

Tim was laughing. Elle frowned at him, but he was doubled over and didn't see her. So she leaned over and punched him in the thigh. She must have hit him just right because he yelped and grabbed his leg. It didn't stop his laughter, but it did tone it down somewhat.

Dick was holding onto Damian's arms and had extended his legs so he couldn't easily get past him stuck as he was between the couch and the coffee table.

"Grayson, release me," Damian was demanding. His face blood-red in embarrassment or anger; Elle wasn't completely sure which it was.

"Damian, please," Elle begged. Her evening was threatening to end in disaster.

"Damian, calm down," Bruce interjected finally. "Discovering something you cannot excel at in your first attempt isn't the end of the world."

Elle jumped at that. "That's right. You just need to work at it a little bit."

"So that I can sound like a dying bullfrog more effectively," Damian snarked.

"You don't sound like a dying bullfrog," she assured him. A bullfrog, maybe, but not a dying one. "That was really too bad of Tim to say that."

She sent the teen another disapproving look. This one Tim acknowledged by ducking his head.

"You know," Elle began, thoughtfully, speaking to Damian. "I watched you dance."

Damian shot her a horrified look that she brought that up in the presence of others. She grabbed hold of one of his hands and drew him back. It wasn't easy. He tried to pull away from her, but between her and Dick, he realized he wasn't going to go anywhere without drawing blood; something he knew that Pennyworth would frown on. Blood was difficult to get out of the carpet.

"No, really," she continued. "You had rhythm. You could hear the beat easily. You don't have a tin ear. Of that, I'm certain."

"What's a tin ear?" Damian asked, almost as if the question was drawn out against his will.

"That refers to people who are unable to pick up the melody and usually cannot discover the beat of the music," she explained. "You can. Perhaps your voice could use some work," she tried not to wince at that fabrication, "but I would bet that you could do some other things that are musical . . . Just different."

Actually the idea had some merit. Damian _could_ keep a rhythm. He could hear the beat. He could dance pretty well already, but she knew that his dancing skills would develop just fine with more practice.

"In fact . . ." Elle's mind raced with possibilities. "I'd bet a thousand dollars that I could teach you to Rap."

"Rap?" Tim snorted.

Elle punched him in the arm without looking at him this time. Her attention was on Damian.

"Shut up, Tim," she snapped.

Dick looked at her with a new appreciation. "That's a good idea!" He turned back to Damian. "Not everyone can Rap, Damian," he said, knowing that the boy would be attracted to the idea of doing something that most people couldn't do or at least couldn't do well.

"What's Rap?" The boy looked between them suspiciously.

Bruce groaned.

"What's wrong with Father," he glanced behind him at his father collapsing back into his armchair and noted the pained look on Pennyworth's face.

Dick laughed this time. "Not everyone appreciates Rap."

"Only because a lot of the words are angry," Elle said. "But Rap can also really enhance a song when done right. And then there is Beatboxing . . ."

Tim slapped a hand over his mouth. For someone who swore he didn't know much about music, the older boy was proving to be a rather large annoyance, scoffing at these terms.

Damian's eyebrows rose as interest sparked in his eyes. "I could Beatbox," he said with utter confidence.

Elle grinned. "It is another way to enhance music," she told him. "Unfortunately, it doesn't actually include hitting anyone or anything."

The interest seemed to dim somewhat at that.

"Well . . ." Elle kept smiling. "I wasn't going to give you this until tomorrow, but under the circumstances . . ."

Damian tilted his head, curious. He was just so adorable, Elle thought.

"Come on!" She stood and walked around the coffee table. "A lot of families give their Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve."

"But the tree is here." Damian waved at the enormous fir that looked like it was decorated within an inch of its life by some kind of Christmas tree professional, but really it was just Alfred.

"It wouldn't fit under the tree," Elle told him in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Damian's eyes widened slightly. It took a bit of self-control not to laugh at him, but Elle knew the boy wouldn't appreciate her humor at that moment. He had had enough of being embarrassed for the day.

Everyone stood to follow the two out the door; curious now as to what Elle had given the boy. Even Dick was curious. Elle hadn't told him about this. Only Alfred knew because Elle had shown up a few days before to set it up. The long-suffering butler looked resigned to it now. Elle was positive she could change his mind about the present soon enough. Dick had told her how quick Damian was to pick up new skills, after all.

She led everyone to the music room. When she looked behind her, it was to a slew of surprised faces. Seriously, how could anyone be surprised that Elle would find a way to give a musical gift?

She grinned at Damian. "Are you ready?"

Damian was staring wide-eyed at the door, not looking at her, but he nodded his head with the most enthusiasm he had shown all evening. She threw open the doors with dramatic flair and strode in with confidence. She knew that Damian would appreciate this instrument over all others.

The family trooped in behind her and Elle picked up a set of sticks off of the snare head and twirled them in her fingers expertly as she turned to gauge their reactions. Bruce and Tim gaped in astonishment while Dick nodded and grinned at her. She knew he would see the wisdom of her choice. She looked at Damian lastly. His was the only opinion that actually mattered.

He was frowning, but in a curious way. "What is it?"

Now it was Elle's turn to gape.

"I-It's a drum set," she exclaimed. "How could you not have seen one of these before now?"

"Strict upbringing, and he's never been interested in games like Guitar Hero," Dick explained.

"If it doesn't contain violence, the little demon-child gets bored," Tim added.

* * *

Damian glared at Tim for the nickname, but didn't contradict him. He didn't see the point in wasting his time in worthless pursuits. Everyone was looking at him now, expecting him to snort and sneer at the gift and ruin Christmas. While Damian didn't see the point in the holiday, being unfamiliar with it, He decided that if it garnered presents, he would endeavor to refrain from his usual sarcastic remarks.

Elle was looking at him hopefully. He glanced at the sticks in her hands, intrigued.

"How does it work," he asked, deciding to withhold judgement until he had gathered more information.

Elle grinned and twirled the stick, flipping it into the air and catching it. Damian tilted his head as he considered his brother's fiancée. She was a mass of contradictions, he thought, remembering how she had managed to sprain her ankle tubing a few weeks ago and then losing Gordon's ring down the heating duct in Grayson's apartment.

"You hit these," she said, indicating the variety of drums. "With these," she held up the sticks. "And you do it in a rhythm."

She inserted a USB and picked up a remote and moved around the mass of drums and brass plates and sat on a small stool behind them.

"It makes more sense when you have a music track with it. This song is one that I removed the drum track from so that I could practice." Elle smiled a little apologetically to Bruce and Alfred. "It may not be to some of your music tastes, but it has some challenging drumming that makes it good as a demonstration."

"I'm sure that if you like it, Elle, it will be fine," Bruce assured her.

Dick snorted, causing Damian to glance in his direction. He waved his hand as he grinned. "You may regret that," he chuckled. "Elle has some very broad range tastes when it comes to music."

"I thought you liked much of the same music as I do," Elle frowned at him.

"Much of it," Dick told her. "Not everything, but a lot of it. I've never heard you play the drums before, though. Just the piano and the ukulele. How many instruments do you play anyway?"

Elle smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "You've seen a few of them in the apartment."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "But I've never heard you play most of them."

"Yet," she promised him. "You've never heard me play most of them – yet. I play more, but I don't have the room to keep them all, and my walls aren't exactly soundproofed. My neighbors would get annoyed if I played instruments at home if I couldn't control the volume."

"Then how do you practice," Alfred asked her politely.

"Mostly, I arrive to rehearsals a couple of hours early and practice a bit until the rest of the band arrives." Elle played with her sticks a bit. She couldn't help herself. To not play and twirl was like sitting in a rocking chair and not rocking.

Damian looked around and found a second set of what looked like Elle's drum set but it had pads instead. "What's that," he asked pointing.

"An electronic drum set," she answered. "I thought that maybe we can play together sometime as you learn. Also, if your practicing bothers Alfred, you can turn the volume to this set down."

Damian appeared interested in the process, thankfully.

Elle lifted the remote. "This song is called "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana," she told them.

Dick grinned and covered his mouth. None of the others appeared affected by this announcement, meaning that none of them had ever listened to Alternative/Grunge-style music yet. An electronic guitar sounded. Bruce, Alfred startled to the sound, but Tim was smiling, leading his brother to think that maybe he knew a lot more about music than he was letting on. Elle kicked in with the beat a few short seconds later.

* * *

Damian tilted his head watching as she hit the drumheads with unanticipated force. He found his foot tapping out the beat with her. His mouth quirked up. He liked the song; especially as the beat picked up and it grew louder. It was powerful music.

And Elle was actually remarkably coordinated. The demonstration was . . . impressive.

Damian leaned into Grayson's side. Dick bent to hear Damian's question.

"Is this beatboxing," he asked. He could do this. He was sure of it.

"No," Grayson told him. "This is drumming. Beatboxing can sound similar to this, but you make the sounds with your mouth and body."

Damian's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?"

Dick grinned. "If Elle thinks you can Beatbox, then you can."

"What about Rap?"

"That is more like talking but the words often rhyme and are spoken with a rhythm," he explained. "Ask Elle about it later. She can provide you with some examples."

Damian was quite for a moment, contemplating what he was learning as he listened to Elle's performance. He nodded and looked up at his brother.

"I can do this," he announced with conviction.

"I know you can," Grayson assured him.

Elle finished her demo with a dramatic flourish. Standing, she took a bow.

Damian's lips turned up at the edges. "You're gift is acceptable, Hamilton."

Elle glanced at Dick. He laughed, still clapping. "You're a hit!"

She grinned.

"Yes, but I'm wondering if Alfred and I will regret this by the end of the week," Bruce added dryly.

"I promise, we'll start on something not quite so . . . intense," Elle told the older man, good-naturedly.

* * *

After Elle showed Damian a few basic rhythms that he could practice until his first lesson, everyone moved back into the living room for more hot chocolate. Dick hadn't taken a turn yet, and Elle already had a plan for a way to end the evening.

"A duet?" Bruce repeated her announcement.

"I say, that sounds like a marvelous idea," Alfred enthused as he brought in fresh hot chocolate and cranberry scones.

Tim leaned in to snatch a scone. "What song are you going to perform?"

Instead of answering, Elle flipped to the correct song and handed Dick the microphone. He turned it off and tossed it onto the couch cushions.

"I think I can managed to sing loud enough for everyone in the living room to hear," he commented as the music started. Although, they faced their audience, the couple turned enough to sing to each other.

* * *

"I really can't stay," Elle sang, glancing up at Dick, coyly. Dick followed in his lovely baritone; his part overlapping hers slightly: "Baby, it's cold outside."

Elle: "I gotta go away." Dick: "Baby, it's cold outside."

Elle: "This evening has been . . ." Dick: "Been hoping that you'd drop in."

Elle: "So very nice." Dick sang his part; picking up Elle's hand in his own; chafing it lightly: "I'll hold your hands; they're just like ice."

Elle: "My mother will start to worry." Dick: "Beautiful, what's your hurry?"

Elle: "My father will be pacing the floor." Dick: "Listen to that fireplace roar."

Elle: "So, really I'd better scurry." Dick: "Beautiful, please don't hurry."

Elle: "Well, maybe just a half a drink more." Dick: "I'll put some records on while I pour."

Elle: "The neighbors might think . . ." Dick: "Baby, it's bad out there."

Elle looked down at her hot chocolate with an amusing confused expression on her face, and sang: "Say, what's in this drink?" Dick: "No cabs to be had out there."

Elle: "I wish I knew how . . ." Dick: "Your eyes are like starlight now."

Elle: "To break this spell." Dick sang as he mimed swiping a hat from her head: "I'll take your hat! Your hair looks swell." Elle laughed and said, "Why thank you."

Elle resumed singing, wagging her finger at Dick: "I ought to say 'No, no, no sir." Dick scooted a step closer as he sang: "Mind if I move in closer?"

Elle: "At least I'm going to say that I tried." Dick sang with a pout: "What's the sense in hurting my pride?"

Elle: "I really can't stay." Dick: "Baby, don't hold out!"

Together, they dipped their heads toward one another and sang together: "Baby, it's cold outside . . ."

Elle pushed Dick back slightly and narrowed her eyes at him, saying, "You're very pushy, you know?"

Dick laid a hand on his chest and tried to look innocent as he answered her. "I like to think of it as opportunistic!"

Elle started singing again: "I simply must go." Dick: "Baby, it's cold out there."

Elle sang with a laugh: "The answer is no!" Dick sang as he implored her: "But baby, it's cold out there!"

Elle: "The welcome has been . . ." Dick: "So lucky that you dropped in."

Elle: "So nice and warm." Dick pointed dramatically at the window as he sang: "Look out the window at that storm!"

Elle: "My sister will be suspicious." Dick took her hand and brought it to his lips: "Gosh, your lips look delicious!"

Elle pulled her hand back, but Dick held on as she sang her part: "My brother will be there at the door." Dick gazed dreamily at her: "Waves upon a tropical shore."

Elle: "My maiden aunt's mind is vicious." Dick repeated a previous line as he leaned in as if he were going to kiss her: "Gosh, your lips look delicious."

Elle stared at his mouth as she sang starry-eyed: "Well, maybe just a cigarette more." Dick sang inches from her lips: "Never such a blizzard before."

Elle glanced at their enraptured audience, shrugging her shoulders helplessly as she laid a hand on her cheek and declared, "And I don't even smoke!"

She continued singing as she tried pushing him back: "I've got to get home." Dick: "Baby, you'll freeze out there!"

Elle: "Say, lend me your coat!" Dick laid her hand against his chest, and pointed to the window again; singing: "It's up to your knees out there!"

Elle: "You've really been grand." Dick: "I feel when I touch your hand."

Elle: "But don't you see . . .?" Dick held his hands out imploringly to her: "How can you do this thing to me?"

Elle touched a finger to his chin as she sang to him: "There's bound to be talk tomorrow." Dick clasped his hands over his heart; hamming it up: "Think of my life-long sorrow . . ."

Elle: "At least there will be plenty implied!" Dick: "If you caught pneumonia and **_died_**!"

Elle: "I really can't stay!" Dick: "Get over that old out!"

Both leaned in and sang together; holding the last note out: "Baby, it cold outside . . ."

Elle heaved a huge sigh and looked at him, her hands on her hips as she smirked. "Okay, fine! Just another drink, then."

Dick laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. "_That_ took a lot of convincing," he declared.

* * *

They bowed together as the music slowed to an end.

Everyone was on their feet, applauding wildly and laughing. Tim whistled.

Alfred was profuse with his praise, shouting, "Bravi! Bravi!"

"That was wonderful," Bruce smiled. "You two must have practiced quite a bit beforehand."

Damian wore a half-smile; after all, it wasn't him up there making a fool of himself. In his head, he might have admitted that they were pretty good together, and kind of humorous, at that. He'd never admit it out loud, although he still stood and clapped with the others. He could be polite when the situation called for it, despite what Drake might say.

The night ended not long after, with everyone waving good night at the doors to their bedrooms and calling out 'Merry Christmas'.

Damian walked into his room, playing with his new drumsticks; twirling them as he had seen Elle do downstairs. He was thinking that they might also make a decent weapon when one went flying out of his fingers, rolling across the floor and under his bed.

"Damn," he muttered, getting onto his hands and knees to retrieve the errant stick.

He turned and sat on the floor; leaning back against his bed. He twirled his sticks again, feeling a ridiculous amount of triumph when he kept hold of them this time. Pursing his lips, Damian switched his position and began practicing that rhythm Elle had showed him earlier on the carpeted floor. It made a hushed sort of sound, but his ears were sharp enough to know that he had gotten the rhythm correct. He continued it over and over, gaining speed as he gained confidence.

Damian bet it would sound great on the drum set. Much better, in fact, than on the floor. The idea of sneaking back down to the music room flitted through his mind.

_The room __**is**__ partially soundproofed_, he thought to himself. No one would be able to hear him unless they were standing in the hallway outside of the door.

He waited until he thought everyone had enough time to get into bed before easing his door open. His head popped out and his eyes searched the other doors for telltale light shining from underneath.

All the lights were out.

He closed the door silently. He thought he heard murmurs and laughter coming from Grayson's room. Doubtless the two were talking about the evening. His eyes narrowed. They had better not be making fun of his pitiful performance!

He would show them! Damian would master this drum set and be victorious over Beatbox and Rap, and then no one would laugh at him again. Especially not Drake!

As he moved silently down the hall in the direction of the stairs, his drumsticks in his hand, Damian flirted with the idea of shaming Drake the next time a music contest was suggested.

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**I ended up rewriting this. I hope it was worth the extra wait . . . (Last Chance has reached 35,000 views as of 11/30/15! Thank you!)**

**The song "Smells Like Teen Spirit," as performed by Nirvana, was written by Nirvana frontman, Kurt Cobain; bassist, Krist Novoselic; and drummer, Dave Grohl. It was from the album "Nevermind" and recorded at Sound City Studios, Van Nuys, California. It was released in September 1991 under the label, DGC, and produced by Butch Vig. Look up the video on YouTube as performed by Meytal Cohan to get a feel of watching Elle on the drums. (No, Elle doesn't resemble Meytal in anything other than music style. I just liked Ms. Cohen's video and want to share it. It will bring that part of the story to life and you can better imagine her audience's reaction.) **

***Remember - Elle's music is eclectic! She likes and perform it all - She just likes Jazz best.**

**"Baby, It's Cold Outside" was written by Frank Loesser in 1944 and performed with his wife at a housewarming party. (Cute, huh?) In 1949, he ticked off the little woman by selling it to MGM to be used in the movie, "Neptune's Daughter". It's been recorded numerous times. The version that I used as inspiration is the duet by Idina Menzel and Michael Buble' from her Christmas album, "Holiday Wishes". Look this video up and listen to it while reading the part with Elle and Dick. **

**Idina's voice is a bit higher in pitch and "sweeter" than what I imagined Elle's voice to be. I see her with a slightly deeper and smokier voice, but she (as a Siren) has a tremendous range of several octaves, and can even hit pitches higher than the human ear can perceive. Whales, Dolphins, Porpoises, and (LOL!) Bats, however, love her . . . ;D **


	70. In The Bedroom Arose Such A Clatter

**Just a fun little chapter. This is set at approximately 5:00 am on Christmas Morning.**

**Warning: Some Language, Nudity, and Sexual Innuendo (nothing worse than prime time TV) . . .**

* * *

Elle kicked off her slippers and draped her robe on the foot of the bed before slipping back under the covers. She looked over at the man sleeping beside her and smiled. He was so beautiful; inside and out. She wanted this to be magical and hopefully she had managed it. As best she could tell, no one in the house had known she had been up.

Of course, the house was owned by a bat; one that Dick had reminded her numerous times was incredibly paranoid. For all Elle knew, Bruce had been ensconced in a secret room watching her every move.

_No_, she decided. _That is just too weird_. And if it were true, she didn't think she wanted to know about it. She shivered, and Dick stuck out an arm; snagging her around the waist and dragging her up against him. She cuddled into his warmth with a sigh. He nuzzled her ear.

"Where did you go," he asked in a sleepy whisper.

Her eyes snapped open. _He noticed_?

"Nowhere," she whispered back. "Go back to sleep. You must have been dreaming."

He chuckled. "I'm not dreaming now," he spoke into her ear, causing her to shiver again. "And your feet are cold."

Elle burst out laughing. Turned to face him, she propped her head up on her hand. "You, faker! I thought you were asleep!"

"You've spoiled me," he grinned. "I can't sleep without you now."

Her smile softened as she played with a lock of his hair; twirling it in her fingers. "What do I look like to you? A teddy bear?"

"No," he told her. "More like a midnight snack!"

She eeped as Dick suddenly rolled her onto her back. He dove under the covers, pushing up his flannel pajama top she wore as he gave her a loud raspberry on her bare belly. Elle squealed, pushing at his shoulders and kicking off the covers.

"**_Stop_**! Stop! Dick,_ please_," she shrieked, laughing.

"Bwahahahaha," Dick laughed evilly as he started unbuttoning her shirt. "I've got you now, my pretty . . . Right where I want you!"

His fingers traced a path up her ribcage as Elle squirmed frantically beneath him. Elle writhed and flailed in a futile attempt to escape, all the while laughing hysterically. The dratted man had long ago discovered all of her ticklish spots and was now taking full advantage. Her hand slapped the bedside table; knocking off the clock radio and setting it off. It began blaring Christmas music even as the lamp crashed onto the floor next to it.

"Oh, shit," Elle yelped. "Dang it!"

Dick stopped long enough to lunge over her in order to turn the noise off. Elle grunted and groaned under his weight. Unable to reach the radio, Dick slid further off of the bed; his legs waving. His fingers searched for the off button, but found the volume control instead.

"Sh! Off, not louder," he laughed. He glanced up at Elle over his shoulder. "Whoops!"

"Dick, get off," Elle gasped for breath between giggles, pushing at him. "You're squishing me!"

It shouldn't have surprised either of them when the door chose that moment to crash into the wall, and the room flooded with light.

"Unhand her, you . . . you . . . _Grayson_?" Damian stumbled to a halt just inside of the door; his Katana poised over his head. He blinked at the comical sight of the couple entangled on the bed. "What the _hell_ are you two doing?"

Elle and Dick froze for all of two seconds, then Dick attempted to slide the rest of the way off of the bed rather than try to lift himself back up and crush Elle even more so with his added weight. Elle yipped and grabbed at him; attempting to keep him in place. Her hands scrambled for purchase, first on his bare back and then grasping at his pajama bottoms.

"_**No, Dick**_! **_Wait_**! Don't go," she shrieked.

"**Hey**! Let go," Dick yelped.

But gravity had already taken hold of him; dragging Dick the rest of the way to the floor on the opposite side of the bed from where Damian stood gaping at them. Unfortunately, Elle refused to relinquish her hold on his pants, and he slid out of them; landing on the floor nude.

Elle's eyes widened as her cover thumped to the floor. Dick's body had been the only thing hiding the fact that her pajama top had been unbuttoned and her front was completely bare, but now, even that cover was gone! She clasped his now empty flannel bottoms over her chest and rolled off of the bed after him; taking the pillow with her.

"**_Ow_**," Dick grunted.

Elle's elbow had caught Dick in the ear and her knee elsewhere.

"Damian, what are you doing in Dick's room?" Tim's voice floated to them.

"What's going on in here," Bruce yelled, stepping into the room. He blinked at the empty bed and started to move around it. "Are you two all right?"

Realizing they were about to have even more company, Dick grabbed the pillow and leapt to his feet; covering his nudity with it.

"Bruce! Stop," he hollered at the man, laughing.

It was a testament to the man's drowsiness that it had taken so long to realize what was happening, but Bruce stopped in his tracks and began backing up until he stood beside Damian in the doorway once more.

Elle hand appeared holding his pajama bottoms. Dick grabbed them, but appeared stumped as to what to do with them; to put them on he needed to drop the pillow.

Dick grinned. "You may want to close your eyes," he warned, and turned his back to their unwanted audience. He let go of the pillow and flashing them his ass in order to lift his leg into his pants. He hopped awkwardly a couple of times before stepping on the other leg, and promptly fell to the floor with a thud.

Groaning, Dick took the opportunity to turn off the radio, and then tried again to get decent. He shoved his feet into his pajama pants; sliding them up and over his bare bum successfully this time. Elle was lying on her back, breathlessly struggling to button the oversized pajama top over her breasts as she giggled helplessly at their situation.

"I don't know, Father," Damian complained, lowering his sword. "I heard Elle screaming and thought an assassin must have penetrated the house. I came to assist Grayson, but . . . But, I'm not certain . . ." he trailed off, then sighed. "Apparently, I was mistaken about the assassin."

Tim had doubled over as soon as Dick had jumped up with the pillow and they had all realized what had happened.

"Are you okay, Elle," Bruce asked, rubbing his eyes. He was having difficulty not to join in Tim's amusement.

Dick climbed back to his feet with a groan.

"Why aren't you asking me that," he grumbled; absently rubbing at his sore ear, but ignoring other aches. He dug Elle's robe out from the tangle of covers bunched at the foot of the bed and tossed it down to her. "I'm the injured party here."

"I said I was sorry," Elle's snickering apology floated to them from behind the bed.

Dick flashed her a crooked grin as way of forgiveness.

Damian frowned. "I don't understand."

Dick paused, blinking. "Oh . . . Um. You may want to handle this one, Bruce."

Tim bent over wheezing; needing to hold himself up with a hand on the door frame.

Bruce blinked, finally awake enough to grasp the situation. He looked down at his eleven year old son with a sense of trepidation.

Damian rolled his eyes, and tsked. "_Please_," he sneered. "I understand _that_! I just was surprised that Grayson was so incompetent at the task that Hamilton had to resort to screaming."

Tim howled and slid to the floor; weak from laughter.

Elle peeked up over the edge of the bed now that she was covered. Her hair was tangled and hanging over one eye. She shoved it back off of her face with the back of her hand. "We were just playing, Damian."

"Playing? You mean, like a game?" The boy's eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. "In the middle of the night?"

She flashed Dick a grin, and then looked back at their audience with amusement. "Kind of," she admitted, hesitantly. "I was yelling because he was tickling me. I'm very sorry that we woke you. We won't do it again."

Tim snorted, now that he was regaining some semblance of control. "**_I_** came because I heard a crash," he told them.

"I sort of knocked some things off of the nightstand," Elle stated regally as she finally stood up. She tugged the edges of the robe together; biting her lip to keep from giggling again.

"Sort of?" Tim asked this, trying to milk the situation for all it was worth.

"Knock it off, Tim," Bruce nodded back toward the hallway. "This doesn't concern us. Let's all go back to bed."

Damian looked at Bruce as his father took his sword and steered him out of the room. "Father, I think you need to have a talk with Grayson. His education is obviously sorely lacking in certain areas."

Tim guffawed from across the hall before his bedroom door closed and muted the sound.

Bruce glanced back over his shoulder, smirking. "Yes, I can see that it might become necessary."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Now, lock the door on your way out, would you?"

Bruce obliged and closed the door behind him.

Elle turned to face him. He could see by the way her lips twitched she was holding it in. His own lips twitched in response.

"I really am sorry," she repeated much more sincerely.

He waved it away. "It was an accident," he assured her; tugging her closer and untying the belt of her robe.

She looked up at him mischievously; smirking. "Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?"

Interest flared in his eyes as he shoved off the offending robe. He glanced down, blinked, and started laughing. Elle frowned and looked down at herself curiously. The pajama top was buttoned crooked and haphazardly. She had even missed a button completely, causing her top to gap and skin to peek through.

"Probably a good thing you tossed me my robe," she giggled.

"This thing is a mess," he told her; shaking his head in mock-disappointment as he reached for her top. "I'm afraid we're going to have to undo all of these buttons and start all over again . . . in the morning."

Elle leaned up and kissed his mouth; giggling against his lips as her hands slipped beneath the fabric of his pajama bottoms to grip his butt. She pressed against him, happily.

"Is that a pistol in your pocket," Elle said in her best Mae West imitation, "or are you just glad to see me?"

Dick grinned down at her and raised an eyebrow. "These pajamas don't have pockets," he informed her. "I'm always glad to see you."

She laughed when his hands slid around the tops of her thighs and he hoisted her up, only to toss her lightly across his bed. Elle squealed as she bounced, and then slapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Dick followed her down onto the bed . . . _**most** gladly_!

* * *

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	71. A Little Christmas Magic

**Warning: Language . . .**

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Jason looked at his bike longingly; thinking that if he ran now, he could be on it and out of sight before anyone could open the door. No one would have to know that he had ever been here. But he had_ promised_ . . .

Sort of.

It was too late, however. He had spent too long fluctuating between staying and going and now the door was opening. His heart gave a painful thud and tried to claw its way up his throat.

"Master Jason," exclaimed Alfred. "How wonderful to see you again!"

Jason turned to greet the old butler; nervously running a hand through his hair in order to neaten it. Alfred had never been keen on helmet hair.

"Uh, hiya, Alf . . ." he cleared his throat. "Alfred, I mean." Whatever had happened between him and Bruce, Jason had never lost his respect for the older man that ran the manor with precision and . . . well, love.

Alfred looked him over critically. "It appears we're are going to have a colorful Christmas this year," he indicated Jason's swollen nose and bruising that extended outward beneath both eyes. "But you look to be in good shape otherwise. I imagine you are in need of a proper meal, though, now that you're here."

He blinked as his eyes confirmed the number of years that had passed by in the old man's appearance. Less hair on top, but more gray. A few more lines creasing his forehead, meaning more worries. Jason felt a twinge of guilt that some of those lines might have been caused by him.

"I've never found anyone who could rival your cooking, Alfred," Jason freely admitted.

"Well, don't stand out here in the cold! Come inside quickly!" Alfred practically beamed at him. Well, whatever constituted 'beaming' to a stalwart, British butler.

Before he knew it, Alfred was propelling him into the warmth of the foyer. Jason glanced around, looking for changes from the last time he had entered the impressive entry hall. Surprisingly little, but then Bruce was always as much a stickler for tradition as Alfred was. The decorations, however, did seem a little grander and more festive this year.

"Perfect timing," Alfred was saying. "Everyone is up and should be coming downstairs at any moment."

It was eight o'clock in the morning. That was the butt-crack of dawn for people in their line of work, although memories of getting up at five a.m. for training before breakfast and school flitted through his reluctant mind. Doors were slamming and loud thumps of running feet drifted down to the hall from upstairs, announcing the eminent arrival of the current Bat brood.

Jason stiffened, and he had to battle the urge to run. Alfred must have realized this for he laid a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Steady there, Master Jason," the elder man murmured gently.

Laughter floated in the air, causing Jason to frown slightly. That was new . . . Well, not exactly new. There had been laughter before, he remembered, but it had been uncommon and often stilted. What he heard now was bright and full of joy.

There was the change he had been searching for.

The higher-pitch of feminine laughter was interspersed with that of the male variety. Jason recognized Dick's; and could only assume that the other distinctive voices belonged to that of his replacement and the demon child he had heard about.

The tension in his shoulders increased. He hadn't seen Red Robin without Batman since he had beaten the shit out of the kid almost a year ago, and he had only glimpsed the newest Robin from a distance a few times.

"Race you," came a childish voice, Jason assumed was the demon brat.

"Whoa, partners! Nobody goes in without Bruce," Dick's voice chided.

"Hey, let me go!" Damian yelped, followed by Elle's laughter.

The sounds were getting louder and clearer as their owners drew closer.

"Morning," came Bruce's deep voice.

"Merry Christmas! We were beginning to think you were going to sleep the day away," Dickiebird replied teasingly.

Jason was surprised. He had assumed that Dick would have sounded more nasally that he did after Jason had broken his nose so thoroughly. It had only been one night, and already the sap sounded more or less normal.

"Who could oversleep with all this racket going on," Bruce joked. _Joked_?!

Good God! What had he missed?

"Sorry, Bruce," Tim apologized. Jason figured him for a suck-up.

"Father, make Grayson set me down," the demon demanded royally.

"Good morning, Damian. Merry Christmas," Bruce said, almost happily. "How's the eye, Elle?"

"Much better, thank you," Elle answered. "Merry Christmas!"

At that moment, Elle was bumping shoulders playfully with the Replacement as they neared the top of the stairs, followed by Dickhead hoisting the brat over his shoulder by his own petard as the demon squawked idle threats. Bruce brought up the rear with a contented smile on his face.

Jason glanced around the room again and back at Alfred. His eyes darted nervously back toward the door.

"Relax," Alfred tried to assure him. "You're in the right house."

"Are you sure," Jason asked, perplexed. "This feels more like something out of the Twilight Zone. Bruce is smiling; people are laughing and joking . . . What the hell happened?"

Alfred's mouth twitched down briefly as he reminded Jason about language.

"A new addition," the butler said, by way of explanation. He looked up and ruined Jason's escape by announcing his presence to the others. "Look who's joined us for Christmas!"

Elle had just noticed him and wore a delighted grin. Drake spotted him and Jason watched with glee as the color was leeched from his face. Dick spun towards him, forcing Damian to twist and raise up in order to glare at him. Bruce's face froze with a hesitant smile.

"Jason!" Elle dropped Drake's arm and rushed down the stairs. Dick looked alarmed, but Elle raced around the bottom of the balustrade and practically threw herself into his arms.

Jason oofed softly as the woman wrapped him up in a hug as if he were a long-lost family member. He blinked when he realized abruptly that that was exactly what he was . . . Although not hers. At least, not yet, apparently. His gaze shot up, startled, to see Dick picking up his pace to join them. The idiot was smiling as if he were actually glad to see him.

Jason frowned as he noted that the swelling in Dick's nose had gone down greatly, and his raccoon eyes were not much more than a few patches of purple, green, and yellow. It looked like he had had a week to heal rather than just overnight! Jason knew for a fact that his own bruises had only deepened overnight to black and a dark, dark blue. What the hell?

"We're so glad you came," Elle was saying, drawing his attention back to her.

Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and braided; making it obvious that whatever bruises she had borne the previous evening had nearly disappeared altogether. Jason could only see the faintest trace of yellow and green near her hairline and a shadowy area gracing her cheek. Had she managed to cover it with makeup? She did a damned good job of it! He'd have never known if he hadn't been the one to give the bruises to her just twelve hours before.

"Are you sure," he asked, his gaze flitting back up to where the Replacement was slowly descending the stairs with Bruce.

Jason's lips quirked. Smart of him, sticking to Bruce's side like that.

"I'm positive," she assured him, stepping back from his hesitant embrace.

Dick stepped forward and shook his hand. "Merry Christmas, Jay! Take those sunglasses off and stick around," he teased him.

Jason narrowed his eyes as he searched for traces of makeup on Dickhead's face. Didn't appear to be any, however. "I'm not wearing sunglasses," he groused, annoyed. "And you know it . . . How did you . . .?"

"Ah, ah," Elle grabbed Jason's arm and tugged him further into the room. "No shop talk. It's Christmas! Say hi to Damian."

Dick swung around so that the disgruntled brat was facing him. The kid glared at him; arms crossed. If he didn't look so freaking creepy, Jason would almost think he was cute. But he wasn't that stupid . . .

Elle, however, apparently had no problem with the demon, and laughed; ruffling his hair like he was a fucking puppy or something. Jason knew a predator when he saw one, though. Kid or not, Bruce and Talia's offspring was a loaded pistol waiting to go off.

"Todd," the demon spouted.

Jason blinked. "Uh, yeah."

Damian's eyes widened suddenly and he straightened up on Dickhead's shoulder. He turned and glared in Elle's direction. When Jason looked, the woman was had the most blatantly innocent expression on her face, indicating that she was guilty of something. Thankfully, Dick didn't seem to think they needed more time to acknowledge each other's existence and turned back around; swinging the child to face his surprised adversary.

"I'll have you know, Hamilton," Damian was quick to inform her, "that my feet are not ticklish."

Jason's lips quirked into a lopsided smile as Elle made a poor attempt at denial, but then she was grinning and laughing at the little brat.

"Perhaps, Damian," she said lightly. "Or perhaps I didn't give it a good enough try."

As the couple and the demon moved out of the way, the Replacement moved to join them. His eyes darted nervously from Jason as he followed the couple in the direction of the dining room.

Bruce remained; standing off to the side as if he were afraid the Jason would explode if he got too close.

"Merry Christmas, Jason," he said after clearing his throat. "It's good to see you."

Jason stared, wondering once again if it were too late to leave. Dick and Elle stopped at the entrance to the hallway that led to the formal dining room to look back. They were waiting for him. The chick was smiling encouragingly. He rolled his eyes and heaved a huge sigh.

"Merry Christmas, Bruce," he muttered and moved to catch up with the others, leaving Bruce to bring up the rear.

It was going to be a long day.

"How long am I expected to stay," he asked.

"As long as you feel welcome," Elle told him; tucking her hand into his arm as she walked with him.

"I should go now," he grumbled.

"Feeling uncomfortable for your own reasons is not the same as feeling unwelcome," she informed him. "We all want you here."

Drake was ahead of them and Jason watched, amused, as he practically dove into the dining room.

"Maybe not _all_ of you," he replied.

Damian yelped and reared up indignantly. "No need for violence, Grayson. I didn't say anything."

"And you won't, either," Dick told him, warningly.

The demon huffed, but didn't remark further.

"It's going to be a wonderful Christmas," Elle declared.

Jason and the brat snorted together in response and rolled their eyes. Elle laughed.

"See, you and Damian are already finding common ground," she grinned, and gave his arm a tug. "Come on, slowpokes! I'm hungry!"

* * *

Breakfast had been a stilted affair. Mostly the sounds of silverware clacking on china and the muted sounds of chewing broken only by the occasional request for the salt or pepper. The only entertainment came from watching the silent communications going on between Dick and his fiancée where they sat across from each other. Bruce found his gaze sliding repeatedly back to Jason, though; greedy for the sight of his wayward son finally safely ensconced inside his home . . . If only for the day.

After breakfast, the family moved silently into the living room. The tree was lit as it had been last night, but Bruce stared in shock. The room had been transformed. It still bore the graceful décor placed there by Alfred for the holidays, but there had been additions . . . A lot of additions!

Paper snowflakes of multiple sizes were hung from the ceiling; new stockings were hung along the mantle and stuffed to the brim. There was a railroad track laid out around the room and upon entering, the toy train tooted brightly and began its journey around the perimeter. A fire had been laid and was crackling cheerily . . .

_When had all this happened_, Bruce wondered. Everyone had been together in the dining room, and even Alfred had only disappeared into the kitchen for mere minutes before reappearing at someone's side. He eyed the room's other occupants suspiciously. Had someone sneaked down earlier this morning? They would have had to . . .

Christmas music began playing in the background from a brand new CD player on a side table automatically as people moved to the various seats and sofas throughout the room. Everyone was looking around them in surprise and no little awe. The scent of pine filled the air along with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla from a plate of cookies. A hint of peppermint came from a glass jar of candy canes. But what had drawn the most attention was the numerous gaily-wrapped presents that had been missing the previous day and were now propped strategically around the fireplace and by the tree; including a new sled with a huge green bow.

And the tree . . . A brand new tree topper graced the top of the fifteen foot Douglas fir! A star that was as beautiful as any Bruce had ever seen.

He glanced over at Elle, now sitting beside Dick. She looked as awestruck and as impressed as anyone present, but somehow not surprised. He glanced up at that tree topper wonderingly. If Elle was responsible, how the hell had she managed to get that star up there by herself? Dick must have helped her, but, if anything, he looked shocked by all he saw. Bruce didn't think his surprise faked, and yet . . .

This would have required hours of labor. He had the sudden urge to rush past everyone and head to the Batcave in order to pull up his security feed. He didn't have a camera in the living room, but he did in the hallway and foyer. He would be able to see anyone who came in here from the one positioned down the hall. The one in the foyer would tell him who exactly had come downstairs in the middle of the night. But a glance at Alfred, who was gazing admiringly at the new decorative additions with the rest of the family, would likely string him up if he were to disappear right now.

"You really went all out this year, Alfred," Jason remarked, whistling.

"Yeah, when did you have time to do all this," Tim asked the elder man as he sat down in a chair as far away from Jason as he could find.

Alfred appeared perplexed. "I had nothing to do with all of this," he admitted. "I thought that maybe one of you . . ."

Dick shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me! I was sleeping the sleep of the innocent last night," he said, but his gaze traveled to Elle curiously.

Dick's fiancée sat smiling, but didn't return his glance. Neither did she admit to anything, Bruce noted.

Damian must have been thinking along the same lines as his father. He stared at Elle before asking, "Did _you_ do this?"

Elle blinked at him and smiled. "All this?" She spread her hands out, indicating the entirety of the room. "When would I have had the time?"

"And how would she have gotten to the top of the tree," Tim asked. He looked at Dick, knowingly. "_You_ helped, didn't you? Of course, you did! You had to have."

Dick laughed and waved his hands. "No, no, I swear that I didn't have a thing to do with this."

Jason narrowed his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. He clearly thought Dick was lying, but didn't want to start an argument apparently. Yet another thing that was a welcomed oddity this Christmas Day.

Damian was frowning as he turned in a circle taking in all the changes that had been made during the night. "Well, someone had to have done this," he declared. "It couldn't have happened all by itself!"

"Well, of course, _someone_ did it, Damian," Elle grinned knowingly. "I think it would be obvious."

"Hah! I knew it was you," Damian crowed. "But how did you get all the way up to the ceiling without help? You would have woken Alfred pulling the ladder in here from the garage."

Elle laughed. "I didn't say that _I_ did it! I only admitted that someone else did."

"What's that supposed to mean anyway," Tim tilted his head as he considered her. "You say you didn't do this, but you act as though you know who did. Someone in here is lying through their teeth!"

"My vote is for Santa's elves," Elle murmured softly.

But not softly enough.

Jason snorted with laughter. "Elves? Yeah, right! Even if Santa Claus existed, he would never be able to get through the manor's security system without Bruce being alerted."

Elle blinked and considered him. "You think not?"

"Not a chance," Jason waved the question away. "Bruce's Bat-paranoia guarantees that. This place is wired so tightly that only a spider would have a hope of not setting off the alarm!"

"I resent the accusation that I have allowed spiders to reside inside the manor," Alfred sniffed.

"I read that at any given moment we are within two feet of a spider," Tim relayed to anyone listening.

Elle blanched and gaped at him. "If I lived a thousand years, Tim, I could have gone my grave without knowing that little bit of trivia and died content."

Tim bit his lip to keep from grinning, and ducked his head; his face flushing.

Damian was staring at Elle oddly. "Elves," he repeated her idea.

"And Santa," she added calmly; not taking the least offense to Jason and Tim's gentle ridicule.

Jason barked with laughter. He leaned over so that he could see Dick easier. "Where the hell did you find this chick?"

Alfred cleared his throat and Jason flushed a little.

"Sorry, Al," he said, "but seriously, Dickiebird. She's a hoot!"

Elle smiled contentedly and leaned against Dick. He, in turn, wrapped a possessive arm around her.

"If she says its Santa and his elves, then it must be so," Dick said in lieu of answering Jason's sarcastic question.

Damian spun to face his eldest brother. "You're kidding!"

"Who else could it be, Dami?" Dick asked the younger boy.

"But the alarms . . ." he began. "Todd and Drake both said Father's system would have been triggered had anyone opened an outside door."

It was Elle's turn to laugh. "He didn't come through the door," she said.

Damian frowned. "The window, then," he added sourly.

"Santa gets into the house through the chimney," Elle told him.

Damian glanced at the roaring fire. "What about the fire? There would have been footprints of ash all over the carpet! And . . ." he bent a little but couldn't actually see the flue. "And how did he get through the chimney in the first place; magic?" He didn't bother to hide his skepticism behind manners.

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Elle admitted, sincerely. She mimed locking her lips and tossing an invisible key.

Bruce kept silent throughout this; leaning back and steepling his fingers as he thought. He didn't know how Elle had accomplished this, but he was certain that she was responsible in some way. Dick had to have helped her, although Bruce was impressed with his improved acting ability.

"There are ways to make you talk, Hamilton," Damian challenged.

"Perhaps the name on the gifts would give a clue as to the perpetrator's identity," Alfred interjected calmly.

Damian spun about at the suggestion and darted to the sled. His fingers found the tag beneath the enormous bow.

"Damian Wayne," he read aloud. "Welcome to Christmas."

"That was very sweet of him," Elle whispered to Dick.

"Very sweet of whom," Tim asked; overhearing her comment.

Damian stared at her; as did everyone else in the room; Dick included.

Elle rolled her eyes and laughed. "Santa Claus, silly!"

Three of Bruce's sons groaned at her answer. Dick shook his head, grinning. "You aren't going to convince them," he told her.

She shrugged, unconcerned. "I don't have to," she said. "The truth is the truth, whether or not one is believed. But honestly, if you can ignore the evidence in front of you, how you ever managed to solve any mysteries is beyond me."

Tim stood up and started to make his way out of the room.

"Hold up, Tim," Bruce stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"There is a simple way to solve this," he said. "The security camera in the hallway."

His thoughts exactly, but despite Bruce's own curiosity, he was enjoying the holiday magic Elle had managed to weave. Family discourse without yelling . . . He was ecstatic. No gift under the tree could compare.

"The tape will still be there after we open gifts," Bruce told him, waving the teenager back to his seat.

"Aren't you curious, Bruce?" Dick peered at him.

"Yes, Father," Damian demanded. "How can you not be concerned that someone bypassed your security system? This is a serious breach!"

Bruce's lips twitched and his eyes flicked to Elle and back to his youngest son. "I know who did it," he announced.

Damian didn't miss a beat. He pointed to Elle. "_You_ are responsible! You did this!"

Elle's smile didn't waver. "If it helps you sleep at night, Damian. I have to admit that I never imagined that you could let yourself get so worked up over a visit from a gift-giving elf."

"There was no elf," Damian snorted. "That argument is illogical."

Elle sighed, shaking her head. "You see," she complained to Dick. "This is exactly why Kris prefers gives to children most of the time. Adults are just too suspicious. And _you_," she said, pointing at Damian, "need to learn to just be a kid for a change!"

Jason was still smiling. "Who is Kris?"

Tim slapped a hand over his forehead, undoubtedly realizing to whom she referred, but Damian's focus was like a laser beam. He thought she had slipped up.

"Kris . . . Kringle," Elle replied.

Damian frowned. "Who is Kris Kringle?"

Everyone laughed except for one confused eleven year old; even Alfred. Bruce found himself chuckling. She obviously wasn't going to give in easily, and he watched as the tension in the room visibly eased. Bruce relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy it.

"Enough," he interrupted. "It's time to see what Mr. Kringle brought us."

Damian's eyes widened. It was plain that the boy started rethinking his stance of Santa Claus with what he took as Bruce's admission of the man's existence.

Although Bruce was content to wait to relieve his curiosity, he was looking forward to the moment when he could slip away to view those tapes himself. But he decided then and there, that he would erase the evidence before Damian or the others had a chance to view it.

There was nothing wrong with a little Christmas magic, he decided. Not when it brought his long-lost son home, perplexed his most cynical child, and kept Jason and Tim together in the same room with each other and their brothers without threat or bloodshed. So far, so good . . .

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**More holiday fun and fluff to follow! Keep an eye out!**


	72. The Gift

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

"Are you ready for your present," Dick asked Elle quietly, as they were watching everyone enjoying or sharing their gifts.

Elle held her left hand out and watched the diamond and sapphires sparkle in the late morning light.

"I thought you already gave me my present," she smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I can't think of another thing in this world I could possibly want right now."

"Nothing?" He raised his eyebrows.

She grinned up at him. "Hey! I may be cheap, but I ain't easy!"

He snorted with laughter, and rubbed his fingers over his nose gingerly. It had improved miraculously overnight, thanks to the bonding apparently, but it was still a bit sore.

Elle rose up onto one knee and kissed the abused facial appendage. As she moved to sit back down, the couple noticed the sudden silence, but for the Christmas music playing softly in the background and the happy tooting of the train running around the room. They looked around to see everyone staring at them with various expressions on their faces; amusement, approval, and disgust by Damian.

"What?" Elle challenged them. "Do you have a problem?"

Most dropped their heads or resumed talking. Damian rolled his eyes and twirled his drumsticks in his fingers with growing dexterity. The drumset was his favorite gift, and he had already asked Elle for his first lesson.

Elle glanced back under the tree. "I don't see anything," she said, wonderingly. "Is it invisible?"

"No," he promised, "not invisible; just small."

She narrowed her eyes at him and glanced back to her ring. "Small, huh? Is it more jewelry?"

"It's tucked in the branches of the tree," he hinted.

Her eyes widened in interest. She had to search for it? Suddenly she jumped up and started to climb over his long legs. He caught her before she fell, used to her characteristic clumsiness. Jason, sitting on the other side of Dick, caught her arm as well to help steady her.

"Whoa, there princess," he quipped. "Be careful."

"Thanks, Jason," she said as she regained her feet. Then before he could move out of her way, Elle tripped over his legs as well. "Whoops!"

Bruce started to lurch forward to catch her as Jason grabbed for her as well, but suddenly Elle was dangling in midair. Dick had leapt to his feet and caught her around the waist. She was blushing as he set her down and held her hand as she moved around the coffee table with more care.

"Good reflexes! Still got it, Dickweed," Jason complimented in his own unique way.

Dick smirked. "I get plenty of practice."

Elle stuck her tongue out at him, and he responded by playfully swatting her behind. Elle yelped and then laughed at him. "Paybacks, Dick," she said, teasingly. "Remember what they say about paybacks!"

He winked at her. "I am looking forward to it."

She stood in front of the tree, admiring its beauty. "So, where do I begin," she asked. "It could be anywhere, and this is a big tree!"

Dick sat back down on the sofa. "I would suggest systematically."

She made a face and then began to peek between the pine boughs, careful to not disturb the decorations balanced on them.

"What is she doing," Tim asked curiously as he gently set aside his hand-crafted kaleidoscope.

"Searching for her gift," Dick explained as he watched her.

"You put her gift in the tree?" Jason leaned back.

He was wearing the leather biker gloves that Elle had given him. They molded to his hands like they were made for them specifically. The leather was as soft and as smooth as butter. For not knowing him from Adam, she did a pretty good job of picking out a gift that he would appreciate. They weren't made for the Hood, but Jason would wear them whenever he went out as a civilian.

"She likes spontaneity," Dick told him, "and surprises."

They watched quietly as she moved around the tree, checking branch after branch. After ten minutes, Elle turned around and huffed.

"Maybe you should have supplied a map or some clues or something," she groused, good-naturedly.

He laughed at her pout. "You're getting warmer," he offered.

She hesitated, and then smiled at the game. Turning around she started searching again, this time at chest height.

"You're warm . . ."

Elle moved around the tree systematically. As she started toward the fireplace side of the evergreen, Dick spoke up again.

"Getting cooler . . ."

Elle stopped and moved slowly back toward the front of the tree that faced the room. She lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Dick. He smiled. Her lips quirked and she began searching again.

"Warmer . . . Warmer . . . Uh! Colder!" Elle slid back around from where she was tucked between the tree and Bruce's chair. "Better," Dick assured her.

"Okay," she said. "It's facing the front. Is it in a box? I've been looking for a box, but haven't seen anything that looked like a present."

"It has a ribbon, but it isn't wrapped," he admitted.

Bruce leaned forward in his chair and searched the tree with his eyes. He actually knew what Dick's gift was; having assisted him with it over the past few weeks. It took a moment, but then he found it dangling just above her head.

Elle turned to look back at him. "Do I need a ladder?"

"No," he grinned. His eyes kept slipping up to where it hung. Would she take the hint?

She pursed her lips suspiciously. "Will I recognize it when I see it?"

"I think so," He told her. "I think, when you see it, you will wonder how it is that you missed it all this time."

Still thinking it was jewelry, Elle asked, "Is it sparkly?" The whole tree was sparkly. That was the reason she thought she hadn't spotted it yet.

Dick hesitated. "Yyyeeessss," he drew the word out slowly.

She smirked. "I knew it," she crowed, and spun around with renewed energy.

"Gah," Damian was growing frustrated. He had spotted it several minutes before. "It's right abo . . ."

Tim slapped a hand over the eleven year old's mouth and dragged him back into his lap. Damian immediately began to squirm and struggle.

"Sh, Damian," he told the boy. "Let her find it herself!"

Damian jerked his head to the side and away from Tim's hand. "Let go of me now, Drake!"

Damian stabbed backward with his drumsticks. Had Tim been slower reacting, Damian would have stabbed him in the eye with them.

"Hey! Calm down, you little heathen," Tim yelled, renewing his hold on his little brother.

"Let go! I'm going to kill you, Drake," Damian hollered at the top of his lungs.

Like Tim would let go of him now . . . Dick jumped to his feet and went to assist.

"Damian, stop!" Bruce yelled.

But Damian was working up into a frenzy, growling about retribution. Tim and Dick struggled to contain the boy. Jason stared and tried not to laugh too hard. Bruce had just stood up to put a stop to the impromptu wrestling match when Elle stepped around the three males and sloshed a cupful of ice water into Damian face. Dick and Tim caught part of the freezing liquid and gasped as well. But it did the job. Damian halted, blinking up at her in shock.

* * *

As the boy stopped, Tim and Dick slowly let go and eased back. Elle, instead, leaned in and stroked the upset boy's face.

"Sh, Damian," she crooned softly. "It's okay, now. Calm down . . . Relax . . ."

Her voice floated in almost a sing-song pattern, and anyone could practically see the tension flow out of him.

"Why are you so upset," she asked him gently.

Damian blinked at her a moment and the huffed out an annoyed breath. "Drake clamped his hand over my mouth!"

Tim frowned. "You were about to . . ."

Elle held up a hand to silence the older boy. His defense of his actions would only anger Damian further.

"Do you know why he did that," she asked.

Damian's eyes dipped down and his cheeks flushed, this time with embarrassment rather than anger. "I was about to tell you where your gift was . . ."

"Shouldn't I have the opportunity to find it myself?"

"Yes, but you were taking so long . . ." Damian whined.

"Perhaps, but the hunt is a part of the gift, Damian. Dick wanted me to search for it and find it myself," Elle explained.

"I know," he pouted. He looked away from her and toward the fire; wiping the water from his face with his sleeve. " . . . Sorry."

"That's okay," she assured him. "I'm not mad at you for that. But you almost hurt Tim with those drumsticks I gave you," her voice hardened. "They are meant to create music; not to be used as weapons against your brother!"

"He shouldn't have grabbed me!" Damian's voice started to rise. Surprisingly, though, he didn't deny the familial relationship.

Everyone in the room tensed in preparation of handling the next temper tantrum. Elle petted the boy's hair and shushed him. Rather than take offense, Damian calmed a bit more.

"He probably shouldn't have grabbed you," she agreed. "But he wasn't trying to hurt you; only keep you from giving away the location of my present prematurely. You overreacted . . . badly."

Damian huffed and looked back at the fire.

"You'll need to apologize," she said.

His head swiveled around and he gaped at her. "But he started it," Damian groused, pointing at the older boy.

"And you took something harmless to a dangerous level. He wasn't hurting you, but you purposely tried to hurt him. That is unacceptable. You will apologize or you will be going to your room!"

Damian stared at her, and then looked past her at his father. Elle caught his face with her fingertips and brought his attention back to her. If she were overstepping her authority, no one cared to object.

"Don't look at your father," she said firmly. "You will look at me, young man!"

"But . . ."

"Today is Christmas," she told him. "Today is all about forgiveness."

"I thought it was about presents," he grumbled.

"You shouldn't make assumptions about things you know nothing about," Elle instructed him. "You will forgive Tim for grabbing you and you will apologize to him for trying to hurt him with _my_ gift to you . . . Or you will be excused from the rest of the activities."

Damian's eyes flickered to Bruce and then to Dick before landing back on Elle's. No one was preventing her from doling out the conditions and punishment for his actions. He sighed.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you with my drumsticks, Drake," Damian muttered.

"That's very good," Elle praised him. "Now, turn around and say it to his face."

His bottom lip stuck out for a moment, but the boy sucked it back in and he straightened his shoulders and turned. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you with my drumsticks, Drake," he repeated. "But . . ."

Elle shushed him. "Stop right there before you ruin it." She turned toward Tim, but he didn't need prompting.

"I'm sorry for grabbing you, Damian." He looked like he wanted to say more, but Tim glanced up at Elle, and closed his mouth. She smiled at him.

"Forgiven?" She asked this of the both of them.

When they nodded; Tim quickly and Damian grudgingly, she smiled. "See? And all is well. Christmas is not ruined for anyone," she declared happily. "Now . . ." Elle turned back to face the tree. "To find my gift . . ."

She gasped and grinned; scrambling to her feet and clapping her hands. "I see it! I should have been looking from over here to begin with," she said, delightedly.

Elle skipped over and pulled her gift from the tree. The 'sparkle' came from the monogramed key ring that was . . . _a whistle_? A gold whistle with her initials . . . And a brand new key on the end of it?

She turned around and held it up.

"What's this?"

"A whistle," he said. "Next time you're in trouble, blow it."

_Okay . . . Well, duh! _But that explained the whistle part.

"Look closer at the whistle," Dick instructed.

After a couple of seconds, Elle pointed to a small dot on the underneath side of the whistle. "What's this?"

"An emergency signal and homing beacon," he explained. "I'll be able to find you anywhere if you activate that."

"Really? How awesome is that," she said, fingering the tiny button. She then dangled the key from her fingers. "And this?"

"That," he said slowly, "is a car key."

Her eyes widened in shock. "Y-You bought me a new _car_?!"

Dick cleared his throat. "You said you needed a car. I said that it had to be reliable. That rust bucket you drove wasn't reliable . . . This," he indicated the key in her hand, "is the compromise."

Tim looked curious. "Rust bucket? What kind of car did you drive?"

Everyone present knew Elle came from money. She stood before them now looking chic and classy in her crème-colored, cable knit dress with warm navy blue leggings tucked into brown, slouch leather boots. No one could imagine her driving anything less than a Lexus.

She looked over at Tim and bit her lip. A blush stained her cheeks.

Dick answered for her. "An eighteen year old Yugo in a custom, metallic, aquamarine frost blue."

Jason snorted with laughter. "You mean a piece of shit! Oh my God, are you seriously telling me you allowed her to drive around in a crappy, used _Yugo_?" Jason flinched as Alfred flicked his ear in response to his language. It wasn't enough to erase the grin on his face, however.

Dick frowned at him. "No! I didn't _allow_ her to do anything of the sort. She bought the car herself without my input. I only told her if she wanted to keep it, it had to start whenever she put the key into the ignition."

"I can't believe you gave her a choice that included keeping it," Jason was busting a gut over this one. A Yugo! The idea of a Yugo gracing the driveway of billionaire Bruce Wayne was too much and he had to place a supporting hand on his aching ribs.

"Of course, he gave me a choice," Elle snapped angrily. "It was _my_ car, after all! We had made a deal though!"

"Why would you choose to drive a Yugo, for God's sake?" Jason gasped.

Her shoulders drew back. "I _liked_ it," she ground out through clenched teeth. "It was a classic. It suited my needs. And it had the added benefit of being affordable."

Tim frowned. "But you could afford to buy the best cars out there!"

"Not on my budget," she told him.

Dick explained. "Elle prefers to make her own way. She didn't want to use her family's money for this. She only spends what she makes." He seemed rather proud of her for that fact, despite their differences of opinion over her vehicle preferences.

Elle bit her lip. That wasn't exactly true. She had actually cashed a bond given to her by her grandparents to finance Christmas, but that was nobody's business but her own. She could never have afforded the unique gifts she had given on her salary alone. It was a one-time deal, however, because it was their first Christmas together. Next year's presents would likely be more of a gumball machine variety.

"But a _Yugo_? Surely there was something more reliable that a used Yugo available somewhere," Tim argued.

Elle blew out a breath in exasperation. "I _**liked**_ it!"

She was getting annoyed that no one was taking that into account.

Tim was smiling, obviously his thoughts mirroring that of Jason's, but he asked her anyway. "Alright, fine," he said. "What did you like about it?"

Elle was pouting after being made fun of, but she sighed and answered. "I like it because I thought it was _cute_! I even liked that God-awful color because it meant I could find it in the parking lot more easily amongst all the more common blacks, whites, blues, and red colors you normally see."

Dick sent Bruce a startled look.

She was smiling now. "But the thing I think I liked the best about it . . ." she tapered off, blushing again.

They were all interested in what she had to say now. Even Jason leaned forward as if to encourage her to continue.

"What," he asked.

"Yes, what did you like best?" Tim wanted to know.

"You guys will laugh at me again," Elle made a face with that admission.

"No, we won't," Damian promised. He sent threatening looks at Jason that promised a hellish retribution if he did.

Jason held up his hands. "I won't laugh . . ." He huffed a second later. "I, at least, promise to _try_ not to laugh anyway."

Elle stared at him as if judging his trustworthiness.

"Okay . . ." she began hesitantly before a smile wreathed her face again. "You all will think it's silly . . . but, you see, the car had this big dent in the passenger side door."

Dick's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding me," he gaped. "You _liked_ that dent in the door? But it wouldn't even open!"

"I'll admit that I had planned to get that fixed as soon as I could afford it, but then I learned its secret, see?" Elle was smiling as if she were imparting something on the scale of who killed JFK. "To open the passenger side door, you had to lift the handle up, bump it with your hip, and then continue to lift up as you opened it!"

She grinned and spread her arms out as if she were about to sing out 'ta-da'!

Dick sent Bruce a panicked look, and raised his eyebrows as if to ask 'what are we supposed to do now?' Bruce frowned and got a faraway look on his face as he considered their options. He came to a decision. Pulling out his phone, Bruce held up a finger.

"Hold that thought," he told the room in general. "I have to take this call."

Tim and Damian groaned. Alfred tsked. "Business, sir? On Christmas Day?"

"It won't take but a few minutes, I promise" he assured them. "Wait for me," he instructed Dick with a purposeful gleam in his eye.

* * *

Dick nodded, and relaxed back. Bruce had a plan. He'd thought of a way to fix this. Dick breathed a little easier.

The truth was not that Dick had bought Elle a new car, even though that was what he had originally intended to do. He had seen for himself that she had somehow 'bonded' with the ugly, little vehicle, just like she had with Mook. And since Dick didn't trust any old garage to do the work needed to bring the car up to his standard of safety and reliability, he had brought Bruce into his plan.

Dick would do the work himself and allow Elle to keep the car that she loved.

Dick had had the Yugo towed to the manor where Bruce and Alfred had helped him transfer the vehicle down into the Batcave. It hadn't taken a day before Bruce had called up Wayne Enterprises' R&amp;D department for some top of the line, cutting edge, technological upgrades on par with what he had in the Batmobile.

He had started to complain that he wanted to pay for all of the improvements, but when presented with the kind of materials that would ultimately save Elle's life in the event she were ever in a head on collision with a truck, Dick had relented. It had the secondary benefit of allowing Dick some quality father/son time that he wouldn't have had otherwise.

He had wanted to present the car to Elle from the both of them, but Bruce refused. This was a gift from Dick. He could have done the work and paid for it himself, but the quality of the materials wouldn't have been as great. All Bruce had done was pay the difference and gave Dick a hand when he needed it, his father had argued. It had been with difficulty that Dick had managed to swallow his pride and accept Bruce's financial help, but when weighed with the advantages gained, and the fact that Elle would have been horrified to be the subject of an argument between father and son, he agreed to Bruce's terms and been grateful for it.

They had practically gutted the vehicle to put in custom-fitted, leather seats. A new electrical system; a new suspension system; a new motor that gave the horsepower of a V8 engine in a smaller, more compact form that would fit the car body; new airbags with higher safety ratings; new anti-lock braking system; new top of the line tires; a brand-new paint job; and the thing that had nearly sent Dick into panic mode . . . Two new reinforced doors with a thumbprint keypad with remote vocal activation and alarm system.

He and Bruce had gotten rid of the passenger side door altogether! The very thing that Elle just told everyone was her favorite part of the car was gone!

But Bruce had a plan . . . At the moment, Dick couldn't imagine what he could possibly do in the next fifteen or twenty minutes that Dick might be able to stall for, but he was trusting the brilliant and capable man he knew to find a viable solution and save Christmas! He was the Batman, for God's sake! If anyone could save Christmas for Elle, and ultimately Dick as well, it would be Batman!

* * *

Bruce walked out of the living room, through the entry hall, and out onto the front steps; closing the door behind him. He didn't want anyone overhearing this.

He stared at the shiny, black Yugo sitting in the driveway with a big red bow across the hood and sighed. He couldn't fix the paint job, but there might be a way to save the day yet.

Bruce hit a four digit code on his phone that cued a specially designed emergency signal. A signal that he had never had cause to use before. He took a fortifying breath as he waited . . . twenty seconds . . . forty seconds . . . sixty seconds . . . ninety seconds . . .

A gust of wind and a sonic boom announced the arrival of the one person capable of saving Christmas . . .

"Bruce?!" Superman gaped. He had been expecting to find Batman. "What's wrong? What's happened? Where's the emergency?"

"Right behind you," Bruce told him; turning the phone off and slipping it back into his pocket.

Superman glanced behind him expecting to see an army of killer robots or an alien invasion. What he saw was an empty driveway with a single . . . Was that a Yugo? . . .vehicle sitting in the middle of it.

Maybe the threat was some kind of nanotechnology on a microscopic scale, but nothing turned up to his quick scan of the area.

"Am I missing something here? I can't locate the threat," he admitted reluctantly.

Bruce rubbed his forehead. "Nothing on a global scale, but just as devastating, apparently."

Superman looked at his friend with growing concern.

Bruce waved a hand at the car in front of them. "Dick's gift to Elle for Christmas."

Clark lifted an eyebrow. "He's giving her a Yugo? I know he doesn't make much working for Bludhaven PD, but come on, Bruce! You can afford to give the boy a loan to give his girl a decent vehicle!"

Bruce sent him a look of disgust. "Don't be ridiculous! Dick's perfectly capable of buying her a decent car, but the truth is, she already owned this one. It was a broken-down pile of screws that wasn't worth the cost of towing it the scrapyard, but apparently Elle loved this thing. Dick wanted to fix it up and give it back to her."

"I still don't get it," Clark frowned. "You called me away from Christmas morning with Lois and my parents in Smallville with an emergency beacon that you have ever refused to use in all the time I've known you just to look at a crappy car that Dick refurbished?"

He did a quick scan to make certain that this really was Bruce Wayne and not some kind of elaborate trap set by their enemies, but unless there was someone else in Gotham that looked this much like Bruce Wayne, but also had the skeletal plates and pins garnered over the years by Batman, this was the real deal.

"Look, Dick put a lot of time and effort into making this the perfect Christmas gift for Elle, and we just discovered that the thing she like about the car more than anything else was a ridiculous dent that had been in the passenger side door that required a little finessing in order to be able to open it."

Clark looked at the pristine passenger door facing him. "Huh. And . . . he fixed it."

Bruce blew out a breath, and watched it crystalize in the cold air. "Yep. He fixed it."

"And you need me because . . ." he asked, dragging out the last word.

"I need you because the new doors are a specially-reinforced steel/titanium alloy that I cannot just kick in. At least, not without breaking my foot. Given time, I could have replaced the dent, but not before Dick is supposed to bring her out here and gift her with her now dentless car." Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets. He wished he had taken the time to grab a coat out of the closet on his way out, but hadn't been sure how much time he had.

"So . . . Can you help?" Bruce finally looked over at his friend.

Superman's lips turned up at the edges. "You sent out an end-of-the-world emergency beacon so that I could save Dick's ass for Christmas by kicking his girlfriend's car door?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and Clark noted that the batglare was just as intimidating from Bruce as it was his counterpart.

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. "You only had to ask."

Superman walked over to the car and studied it a moment; using his X-ray vision to analyze the molecular structure of the metal alloy used and the internal structure of the door itself.

"Apparently," Bruce said, walking down the steps to join him, "Elle could open the door by lifting the handle, bumping it with her hip, and then lifting as she pulled on it. Does that help?"

"Without knowing exactly how strong a woman she is, it won't be easy to get this right with one try," Clark admitted. He pursed his lips as he bent down and ran a hand over the smooth, mirror-like finish. "This might crack the paint job."

"That's a risk, yes," Bruce nodded. "Can it be done?"

Clark frowned as he considered the question. "I think so."

"_Before_ she comes out here," Bruce asked with impatience.

Clark laughed. "I think so," he said. "Although I can't guarantee it will work exactly as it did before, you understand."

Bruce sighed. "I doubt even you could replace the original door in the time we have left. Of course, having one metallic, aquamarine frosted door on a black car is just as unacceptable as a completely black car is without the desired dent."

"Right," Superman grinned at the image Bruce's words created.

"Do your best," Bruce told him.

"Right," he repeated and took a step back.

Superman narrowed his eyes; using his X-ray vision to help him determine the best place to hit it. He raised his boot and kicked the door. There was a crunch as the extra-strong metal alloy buckled under the Man of Steel's onslaught. A large dent appeared in the door in the shape of a boot.

"I may be mistaken," Bruce said dryly, "but I'm pretty sure the original dent wasn't shaped like a foot."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Smartass." He kneeled down and used his thumb to smooth away the outline of his boot print. "It may not be an exact match, but this should do the job. You want to try it out for yourself first?"

"Good idea," Bruce said. He had already been moving forward to do just that.

Bruce lifted the handle, but the door was stuck.

"So far, so good," he murmured. Still holding the door handle, Bruce bumped the door with his hip and lifted up as he pulled out. It stuck a little, but still opened for him.

"Ta-da," Clark sang out, amused.

Bruce lifted his eyebrow as he glanced at the hero. "Needless to say, I'm stronger that Elle. Do you have time to stick around for a few more minutes? In case, it needs an adjustment."

Clark looked at Bruce's watch. "Well, Lois and my parents are waiting, but they understood that the emergency could take a little while. I could hang out for a bit. How are you going to explain me?"

"Elle knows who we are," Bruce replied. "She wouldn't be surprised that I know you. She understands that you and I are both members of the Justice League, after all."

Clark nodded. "So, you want that I should hang out right here, or . . ."

Bruce looked up at the roof. "Hm, maybe it would be better if you stayed out of sight initially . . ."

Clark followed Bruce's line of sight. "Got it." He began to rise.

"Give me five minutes . . ." Bruce called to him and headed back inside.

* * *

Dick looked up when Bruce reentered the room. At his nod, Dick sighed and relaxed. He hadn't realized how tense he had been until this moment. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood up.

Holding out his hand, Dick beckoned. "Are you ready to see your gift?"

Elle gave a little squeal of excitement as she put her hand in his. She wanted to see what Dick picked out for her.

Everyone piled out to the front door. Dick glanced at Bruce once more. A subtle nod reassured him.

"Close your eyes," he told her.

Following his instructions, Elle allowed Dick to lead her onto the front steps. She shivered, but it was as much from excitement as it was from the wind. She felt rather than heard the others troop out around her. The family was almost creepy silent, but then Elle felt Damian bump against her free side and lean against her. Her free hand slid down to squeeze his shoulder.

Dick stared at the dent in the door with awe. He knew exactly what the new framework was that made up the doors and much of the body. They had replaced the front bumper and the rear hatchback with other reinforced metal alloy pieces made specifically to fit Elle's car. It had been a job that would have been impossible to do without the finances and influence of one of the richest men in the world.

How the hell . . .?

He sent a questioning glance at Bruce, and watched the man's eyes go up and then meet his again. Dick frowned and looked up . . . And saw the edge of a familiar red cape fluttering over the edge of the roofline. His mouth dropped open again! How many surprises would the day continue to bring?

Superman?

Bruce had called in Superman!

Dick knew just what it took for his father to do such a thing. Bruce may not say the words very often, but he didn't have to when his actions spoke so clearly for him. Dick grinned.

"Okay, Elle. Open your eyes," he whispered in her ear.

* * *

Elle's eyes fluttered open, blinking a little from the glare of the white snow that blanketed the landscaping. Her gaze fell quickly, however, onto the black car with the bright, shiny red bow.

"A Yugo?" She frowned in confusion. Then she gasped! "_**My car**_! _Oh, Dick_! _That's my car_!"

She ran down the step and over to the car and looked in the window. It looked so different! "This _is_ my car, isn't it?"

Dick grinned at her. "Yes, it's your car," he said, following her down. "You loved it so much, I couldn't just get rid of it. So, I brought it here and worked on it with Bruce's help."

Her gaze met Bruce's. "You helped?"

"Somewhat," he admitted. "It was Dick's project, though."

Dick laughed. "We kind of got caught up in the project and it got a little out of control."

Elle looked back inside at all the improvements and modifications that had taken place. "I would say so."

"Do you like it," he asked a little nervously.

She walked around the vehicle until she got to the passenger side door and saw the dent. Her face lit up once more, and her grin was blinding.

"You kept the dent," she squealed.

Dick coughed. "Um, yeah, we kept the dent."

She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she gushed. "Thank you for this! I love it!" And then she kissed him, mindless of their audience.

When they came up for air, Elle smiled at him. "But I love you even more."

She moved back to the car and tried opening the passenger's side door. She lifted the handle, gave it a bump with her hip, and then lifted as she pulled. It stuck. She tried it again, tugging harder. It remained stuck.

"It won't open," she complained.

"Um, it's probably because of all the other work done on it and maybe the paint job that is making it stick?" He smiled, sheepishly. "I can fix that."

She tried it again with no success.

Turning around, she asked innocently, "Maybe you could ask Superman if he could tweak it before he leaves?"

Dick's eyes grew round. "What?"

Elle laughed. "Was I not supposed to notice the sonic boom and the sound of crunching metal that floated in through the windows?"

"The windows were closed," he countered.

"You heard it. We all did," she said, good-naturedly. "You fixed the door, didn't you? Superman tried to put it back, but was too efficient."

"You'd make an excellent detective," Bruce admitted. "You can come on down," he said, casually.

Elle looked up to see Superman floating down in front of her. She hadn't seen him since Metropolis. She felt a blush rise when she thought of how silly she must have appeared to him.

"Merry Christmas," Superman greeted her.

She smiled. "Merry Christmas . . ." her breath caught, and she blinked. "_Mr. Kent_?"

It was Superman's turn to blink. "What?"

"I didn't catch it in the excitement of the other evening and with all the noise in the club, but now it is apparent . . . You are Clark Kent!" Elle blurted.

"How . . .?" Superman glared at Bruce and Dick, but they were both shaking their heads. They hadn't told her.

Elle was suddenly abashed. "Oh," she looked around. "I just assumed that everyone here knew. I'm sorry."

"Who told you?" Clark demanded. For all the Bats were forever harping on the necessity of keeping one's identity secret from even one's allies, they were certainly quick to blab his. True, Elle was about to become a permanent part of the family, but still . . .

"No one told me," she assured him quickly. "I could just tell by your voice . . . And well, honestly, have you never considered the benefits of wearing a mask while in costume? A pair of glasses isn't exactly much of a disguise."

Superman gaped at her while Bruce snorted and grinned. "What did I tell you, Clark?"

Dick, Jason, and Tim were laughing while Damian stared confused.

"No one likes to hear 'I told you so', Bruce" Clark grumbled, but he was smiling a bit. His ma had told him much of the same thing when he moved out of the house at nineteen, before he began his career as a superhero.

"Master Kent," Alfred interrupted. "Would you care to join us for a spot of tea?"

"Ah, no thanks, Alfred," Clark told him. "Lois and the parents are waiting."

He moved back to Elle's car door and opened it easily. After a moment, his eyes glowed red, and a beam of the color shot forth into the workings of the machine. He blew on it to cool it, and then closed the door again.

"You want to give it a try now," Clark suggested.

Elle stepped in and repeated her actions and this time met with success as the door opened on cue. She grinned and gave Clark a quick hug, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Kent, for your assistance."

He sighed. "You might as well call me Uncle Clark, too, now that you're a part of the family."

"Uncle Clark?" Somehow she doubted that was a literal title.

"Dick's been calling me 'uncle' since he was ten," Clark admitted. He began rising in the air. "And now that you know, why don't you get my email address from Bruce or Dick and send me a copy of that picture you took in Metropolis a while back? I told Lois about it and she's been dying to see it!"

Dick moved over to stand beside Elle; slipping his arm around her shoulders as they waved.

"Tell Lois and your parents that we hope their Christmas is merry as well," Dick said, noncommittedly.

Superman saluted, and then in a flash of red and blue, he was gone.

"Wow! That was amazing," Elle grinned.

"It sure was," Dick agreed. "Now," he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together for warmth. "Do you want to take the car for a spin around the neighborhood?"

"And when you get back, perhaps you might consider sharing that picture with the rest of us as well," Bruce smirked.

Dick groaned as Elle laughed.

"No worries," she told him. "I have it as my screen saver on my phone."

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**Reviews appreciated! All I want for Christmas and all that . . . **

**For all you who might recall, Elle's car was not originally a Yugo. This was suggested to me by Poohbearmorris a while back and I couldn't resist it! Especially since it's rated as one of the worst cars of all time. LOL! And here is Dick and Bruce struggling to make it not just reliable but cool as well. Well, it might not be as easy to spot in a crowded parking lot, but I'm sure Elle appreciates the effort that was made on her behalf. And at least they got the dent back! :D**

**And we aren't finished yet. I anticipate one more chapter to go in order to finish the holiday up! **

**Here's a hint to the future: New Year's Eve will bring a most anticipated introduction between Elle and one ex-girlfriend! ;D I know some of you have been asking for this.**


	73. Never Too Many Marshmallows

**Knux27 has, in a most amazing manner, taken the time to figure out the speed Superman would have to be traveling in order to reach Gotham City (Wayne Manor), where I have located it in Illinois (near Chicago) in my AU, from Smallville, Kansas (figuring it was in the lower west side of the state) in 90 seconds. Figuring the distance is approximately 700 miles (the sound barrier is 770 mph, btw) between cities, Knux27 tells me that Superman was traveling approximately 28,000 miles per hour. How AWESOME is that? Thank you, Knux27, for making that real!**

**This is the last Christmas chapter - making ten in all - and covering two days! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It will be a Christmas to remember for the Bat Clan . . . **

**SEVERAL POV CHANGES - all separated by a line. I don't believe it will be too hard to follow along. Some lines will denote a separation of time or action as well. But again, nothing that should be confusing.**

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . . (Not a lot, but a couple of F-bombs found its way in via Jason's mouth. But give him credit; he did try!)**

* * *

"**_Alfred_**!"

Alfred entered the study in response to Master Bruce's bellow. He had been expecting this moment and felt prepared. No one could have accomplished all that Miss Arabella had without an inside accomplice, after all.

"You called, sir," Alfred asked dryly with his best British stoicism.

He watched with satisfaction as the master's cheeks flushed with color. Bruce knew better than anyone when it was appropriate to use one's outside voice while inside, and non-emergencies were not it. Only the family's most trusted retainer held the power to immediately call the powerful and imposing Bruce Wayne onto the carpet with but a few words.

"Alfred," Bruce soldiered on in a more acceptable decibel. "Have you touched the security footage today?"

"Define 'touched'," he answered with considerable aplomb.

"I went downstairs to check the footage from last night, only to discover that the tapes are missing," Bruce complained. "I always replace the previous tapes with new ones if I remove them, but there were none."

Alfred allowed a small frown to appear. "Which security tapes are these," he asked. "Has there been a breach?"

"No . . . Well, yes." Bruce blew out a frustrated breath. "Maybe. Oh hell, Alfred, I don't know! Did you remove the tapes from last night?"

"No sir. Indeed, I haven't been down to the cave as yet today," he lied smoothly as silk. Ah, yes, he still had it, Alfred thought with satisfaction. "Why did you feel the need to view them if you do not suspect some foul deed?"

Bruce ran a hand through his hair as he collapsed into his leather chair behind the desk. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the polished wood.

"I know that Elle's responsible for the changes and gifts in the living room. She all but announced she was planning to do something like this yesterday when she and Dick arrived. You have to admit the changes were impressive. Enough so that I wanted to see for myself how she accomplished it," Bruce told the older man. "I'm fairly certain that Dick must have helped her, but he seemed as sincerely perplexed as anyone this morning. He's just not that good an actor, Alfred, to fool me so thoroughly. But I can't imagine that the girl could have managed all that by herself without alerting anyone."

"Perhaps it was as she suggested, then," Alfred purposed.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and contemplated his butler-cum-everything. "What suggestion is that? . . . That it was _Santa Claus and his elves_? Don't be ridiculous!"

"It appears to be a mystery, Master Bruce," Alfred mused.

Said master narrowed his eyes on older man. "What do _you_ know about the matter?"

"I, sir?" Alfred tsked. "I was sleeping. I am getting older, and it gets increasingly difficult to make certain the house runs smoothly and be up early in preparation for another full day without getting at least a certain amount of rest."

Suspicion was quickly replaced with concern. "Are you all right, Alfred? Is there something I can do? Do you need a break . . . Some time off, perhaps?"

It was galling, but it served its purpose. Suspicion averted. "I will do well enough getting through the holidays. Maybe I'll consider doing just that after the New Year."

"If you need help, all you have to do is ask, you realize. The boys and I will be glad to lend a hand or take on a few of your tasks if you need us to. It is no trouble at all."

Alfred hesitated and considered this. He didn't need the help; at least not for many years down the road yet without some unforeseen calamity coming to bear. But it might be worth the extra work required to clean up afterwards in order to watch the young masters fumble about in the kitchen in preparation of the evening meal.

Ah, alas, but no. It was still Christmas, and he would be damned if he allowed the day to be less than perfect just for an hour of amusement at Master Bruce and his boys' expense . . . But maybe later, when things slow down again and he felt in the need of a good laugh.

* * *

Bruce rose to his feet with concern. Never before had Alfred paused to consider accepting 'help' without feeling insulted by the mere offer. Suddenly Bruce was aware of the passing of years that had gone by without his noticing. The missing tapes were temporarily forgotten.

"Do you need to sit down," he offered. "Can I get you something?"

Alfred looked at him with his familiar disdain at the offer. Bruce felt himself begin to relax.

"You could barely manage to boil water even should you be able to locate the tea kettle," Alfred snorted. "I thank you, but no. That is completely unnecessary. If you are finished now, I have a lunch to prepare for and a full house to feed."

Bruce waved his dismissal and watched, amused, as his major domo turned crisply on his heel and exited the room. It was nearly a minute later that he realized that his questions had been neatly and expertly averted. Taking this into consideration, Bruce turned his thoughts in the direction of his eldest son who was the most likely candidate for accomplice in the house.

_Maybe Dick's acting had improved over the last few months_.

He had replaced the missing tapes, but decided to leave the cameras running for the rest of the day to test his equipment. Bruce usually only turned them on during the night while he was occupied elsewhere or sleeping.

The mystery would eat at him, however.

Bruce exited the study in order to locate Dick to question him. Probably outside waiting for Elle and the boys to get back from another run about the neighborhood in her newly-refurbished Yugo. A smile teased his lips.

_A Yugo, for God's sake_! As he thought for the thousandth time since Dick had shown up with the clunker in tow.

Somehow, though, when his son had described Elle's affection for the bucket of bolts, it had rung true. And when he remembered of her reaction to Dick's gift, he decided that the time and money spent was well worth it.

* * *

Lunch went better than breakfast. There was conversation, at least, and no injuries. All in all, it could be considered a success by normal Bat standards.

And Jason was still present.

Bruce had expected him to depart as soon as he had taken his turn behind the wheel of the upgraded Yugo, but Elle had likely suspected much of the same thing and had latched onto his arm as soon as they had returned; insisting he stay for lunch. It worked!

For the second time, Elle sat across from Dick rather than beside him. Damian and Jason was on either side of her. Tim sat beside Dick but across from Damian, as far as he could get from Jason without disappearing into the kitchen. Despite that, Tim was no longer pale nor was he staring at his plate during the course of the meal. He added to the stilted conversation and even laughed once or twice.

Elle presence seemed to ease whatever tensions seemed to consistently haunt the dining room table at Wayne Manor. Bruce had noted twice more when she had calmed a potential argument from breaking out with that curious sing-song voice that she had used with Damian. He had studied her as she had done it, but determined that it was all done unconsciously on her part. Instinct, he concluded, rather than manipulation.

She was a natural-born negotiator and a peacemaker. He could see exactly why Cedric Hamilton had been so anxious for her to join his business. Arabella Hamilton would be a formidable opponent to face across the negotiation table.

At the end of the meal, as he had expected, Elle had tucked her arm into Jason's and led him in the direction of the living room. Damian had followed with a disgruntled look, but Elle had held her hand out for the boy and Bruce felt his lips twitch at the way his youngest son lit up like a beacon upon being included in her coveted attention.

Dick threw an arm around Tim's shoulders and kept the older boy just as involved and included in the festivities as Elle was doing with the other two. Bruce followed along feeling an elusive well of contentment settling in his gut for the first time since before Dick had become an angst-ridden teenager.

Elle pushed Jason down into the chair by the fireplace and Tim and Damian obediently sat on the sofa next to their eldest brother. She pointed Bruce to the chair he had been using previously.

"There are more surprises in store," she promised with a grin.

"Are you going to make Todd sing like you did the rest of us," Damian asked with a knowing smirk at the young man in question.

Jason frowned and shifted in his chair. "What are you talking about?"

"Elle introduced Bruce and family to the joys of Karaoke last night," Dick snorted with amusement.

Jason's eyes widened in blatant disbelief. "What the f- . . . heck! I mean, what the heck?"

Elle swung around to face him. "Do you sing, Jay," she asked, picking up Dick's nickname for Jason.

"He- . . . Heck, no!" His eyes held a touch of panic. He looked like he would bolt any second.

"Not even in the shower," Dick asked; enjoying teasing his younger brother. It didn't happen often.

"Well, neither do I and **_I_** had to take a turn," Damian complained.

"I don't see any water around here, and I'll be da- uh, _darned_ if any of you will be following me into the bathroom," Jason declared, defensively.

Elle studied him, and if Bruce didn't miss his guess, he would say she was _listening_ to his voice critically. He thought there was a decided look of calculation in her expression, but she only shrugged.

"Maybe later, then," she said, letting the young man off the hook momentarily.

Bruce had no doubt that she would be revisiting the topic again at another time. Jason visibly relaxed even as Damian went into a pout.

"Not fair," Damian grumbled, causing Dick to grin and ruffle the boy's hair.

Alfred appeared at that moment dragging a large bag with him.

"You're gifts, Miss Arabella," he announced.

Bruce frowned and leaned forward. Indeed, the bag was full of long boxes wrapped up prettily with large bows of either red or green.

"You already gave everyone a gift, Elle," Bruce objected. "You didn't have to do this."

Elle laughed brightly. "Of course, I did," she said. "I thought this would make for a fun afternoon, and thought it would be even more fun to gift wrap the items we would need."

Well, she had definitely sparked everyone's curiosity. Bruce glanced at Dick for his reaction, but his eldest met his eyes and lifted a confused shoulder.

"She doesn't tell me everything, you know," Dick told him.

Elle smiled genially. "I can keep a secret. And I love getting and giving surprises."

"Hm, this family is a little better giving surprises than it is with receiving them," Dick warned her.

She started passing out the boxes to each person. "I think this will be a pleasant one," she told him.

She had two left over. She handed one to an astonished Alfred and kept one for herself. Elle walked around the coffee table rather than attempt to step over Tim and Damian's legs. She seated herself on the sofa's armrest by her fiancée, and promptly began to tear at the paper.

Jason shook his box suspiciously first, but then proceeded to follow suit and rip the paper apart. Curiously, Bruce and the others did the same. He opened the end of the box and retrieved its contents. He sat staring at what lay in his hands, utterly flabbergasted!

He glanced up to find the room staring at either the item in their hands or at him in shocked silence. Elle appeared pleased with herself, although Jason took one look and promptly burst into laughter. Dick's mouth was doing a good imitation of a fish; opening and closing without words forming.

* * *

Elle glanced around at the reactions with consternation. Only Jason appeared to be happy with the gift.

" . . . Or, then again, maybe not," she muttered; hugely disappointed with how her gifts were being received.

Dick laid his present carefully on the coffee table in front of him. "Elle, sweetheart . . ." he began uncertainly.

"What did I do wrong" she asked, thickly. And why were her eyes watering, damn it? She blinked rapidly to dispel her tears before they fell.

"I should have told you," he said. "Trust me, had I known, I would have . . ."

"I don't understand," she interrupted him; hating the whine in her voice. "Tell me what?"

Bruce set the rifle underneath the tree beside him. It was a toy, but that didn't matter. He refused to have firearms, of any variety, in his home.

"Firearms aren't welcome in this house," Bruce's voice was hard and emotionless. This was an unbreakable rule in the manor. It had been ever since Alfred brought one traumatized ten year old child home after having witnessing a mugging gone horribly wrong.

Elle blinked. She wasn't sure of his point exactly.

"Oookay," she said, warily. "That is your prerogative, of course, but these _aren't_ firearms. These are mini-marshmallow toy guns. It shoots tiny marshmallows." She held up one of the bags of the sugary treats that she had in included in each of the boxes.

"It doesn't matter," Jason snorted, finally inserted himself into the conversation. "Bruce would ban water pistols."

"Why would he do that?" She turned from Dick and Jason back to Bruce. "Why would you _do_ that?"

It seemed like overkill to her. A lot of people didn't like guns, but most of them didn't also deny themselves the fun of water fights, or Nerf wars, or in this case, marshmallow battles.

Dick answered for him. "Bruce's parents were murdered with a gun," he told her softly.

"Oh," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She knew it had been the loss of his parents that had sent this man on his crusade, but she hadn't been told any specifics of it before now. But that had been . . . how many years ago? And still he allowed a single event to define him; one grief-filled moment to rule his every decision. It seemed a little excessive to her. Had he never gone to grief counseling before?

She looked at the man who had raised the man she adored and wondered at the irony. Dick also had a crusade. His parents had also been murdered, and yet he seemed better-rounded; more mentally and emotionally stable than his adopted father. How had that happened?

But Bruce didn't get it right every time, she thought; seeing Jason out of the corner of her eye. There was Tim, and then poor Damian, whose family on his mother's side seemed even more out of whack than having a father who dressed up like a giant bat and roamed the night. What had she gotten herself into?

Bruce appeared to be satisfied that Elle finally understood the gravity of the situation, but in that he would be mistaken. Elle's mother had been murdered before her own young eyes, but Elle didn't avoid driving in cars. They had been pushed off of a cliff and had fallen into the sea; forcing Elle to swim for her life or die with her. But she didn't avoid water or heights either! In fact, Elle had taken up swimming and competitive diving.

Of course, now she understood why the water called to her, but she didn't have to have it to survive and she certainly refused to allow her grief and personal trauma to rule her.

Elle would never deny that Bruce was saving lives and doing good; indeed, he was doing things that the police weren't capable of doing all for the betterment of society! What he was doing to himself, however, wasn't healthy in the least.

"You _do_ realize that these don't shoot real bullets, though, right?" And she watched Bruce's face turn stony in reaction to her question.

"No guns," he said with finality.

"But _you_ carry one! I've seen it," Elle argued, frustrated. Why was she continuing this? She was going to ruin everyone's Christmas!

Now it was Bruce turn to stare, nonplussed. "You are mistaken."

"No," she insisted. "I'm not! That thing that you shoot at buildings so that you can swing around the city . . ."

She watched him recognize the validity of her argument, and his jaw set. She glanced around at the others and saw their dawning comprehension. Jason started grinning. Dick's mouth opened a little with awe. Tim's eyes widened. She was gaining ground with the boys.

"Come on," she encouraged. "You can do it. Say it with me . . . A grapnel . . . _gun_."

Bruce was not amused by her argument. Even so, his was ridiculous! A gun was an inanimate object! By itself, a gun was capable of doing nothing more than collecting dust. It was the person holding the gun that made it the source of pain or the source of salvation; the means to harm another person or a means to put food on the table.

If Bruce were to shoot his grapnel gun at someone's head, that person would suffer a horrendous wound if he were not killed outright. If Elle shot someone in the eye with her marshmallow gun, his eye might . . . _might_ become bloodshot as a result. It was like comparing apples to broccoli . . .

Bruce continued to be obstinate.

Sighing heavily, Elle picked up her marshmallow gun and her bag of delicious ammo and left the room without another word. Dick caught at her hand, but she pulled free of him with surprising dexterity.

"Elle, wait!"

"Let her go, Dick," Bruce said. "I won't have these . . ."

"**_Toys_**, Bruce," Dick interrupted; raising his voice in anger. "They're **_toys_**! Elle didn't know! She sure as hell didn't mean you any harm! You didn't have to hurt her feelings like that!"

"If she's going to be a part of this family, then it is better that she finds out now the rules of this house and learns to abide by them."

Dick stood up, picked up his own toy gun and the bag of mini-marshmallows. "I'm beginning to wonder if **_I_** still want to be a part of this family," he ground out.

"Dick, wait," Bruce called out as his son stormed out of the living room after Elle; only to feel something ping off of his cheek. He turned his head just in time for Jason to bounce a mini-marshmallow off of the center of his forehead.

"You're still an asshole, you know that, Bruce?" Jason was shaking his head sadly. "Leave it to you to ruin the best Christmas this house has seen in forever. Guess nothing has changed after all."

Tim and Damian had watched the drama unfolding in front of them like a horrific car accident. One just couldn't look away . . .

"Father," Damian demanded, "stop her! You can't let them go!"

_[Poomph]_

"Hey!" Dick cried out, apparently startled.

His voice interrupted the conversation. Everyone turned their heads in the general direction of the hall outside of the living room. They were waiting for an argument to ensue, and they each strained to listen with certain dread. Elle was the best thing to happen to Dick and no one wanted to see them have a falling out over this.

Hell, Elle was the best thing to have happened to the _family_! That she might leave and refuse to return, taking Dick with her, was a very real possibility.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to follow me out." They overheard Elle saying.

Obviously, she hadn't stormed off to her room to pack. In fact, Tim and Damian exchanged a look, she didn't sound upset at all.

"It's _still_ Christmas." Dick answered her. Odd. _He_ actually sounded cheerful, despite his angry words less than a minute ago.

"I refuse to allow my marshmallow guns to go to waste," Elle declared imperiously.

_[Poomph]_

"You missed me," Dick commented dryly. "You know that they can probably hear us in there."

He was right. The couple must be just a few feet down the hall, near the foyer, for their voices to be heard so clearly.

"Good!" Elle didn't sound concerned in the least. "Let them be jealous of our good time! There!" [_Poomph]_ "Take that!"

Dick snorted with amusement. "You missed again!"

"I think there must be something wrong with the sights," they heard Elle complain.

"Let _me_ try it," Dick offered. [_Poomph]_

"Hey," Elle yelped.

"Mine seems to work just fine," Dick told her.

There was a sound of a plastic bag rustling.

"Gotcha," Elle declared, triumphant.

Dick laughed. "Now you're cheating! You can't just throw a handful of marshmallows!"

"Well, of course I'm cheating," Elle said. "I'm just your average, every day, slightly clumsy, totally awesome, but completely normal female who is up against a super-freak! I have to use every advantage I can get!" [_Poomph]_

"Super-freak?" Dick sounded mildly offended. [_Poomph]_

"Fine, fine, okay . . . I'm up against the amazingly tight ab-ed, marvelously-toned buns of the incredibly gorgeous, wonderfully sexy, and utterly non-average Night-superfreaking-wing! Better, now?"

Dick choked with laughter. "Well, okay then! _That's_ alright!"

Tim laughed, only to have Damian elbow him to be quiet. They were both kneeling, facing the back of the couch close to the open archway; not even pretending to not be eavesdropping on their brother's conversation with his fiancée.

Bruce stood up and moved nearer the couch.

"Don't even think about interrupting this, old man," Jason warned him; waving his own marshmallow gun in his direction.

_[Poomph_ _Poomph]_

Dick's voice drifted in a minute later. "Where'd you learn to shoot?"

Bruce frowned, but he didn't interrupt.

"Are you making fun of me," Elle asked; disbelief in her voice.

"No," Dick replied. "I'm making fun of your shooting." [_Poomph]_

"Hey! No wisecracks about my shooting!" Elle yelped. [_Poomph]_

"You call _that_ shooting?" Dick called out.

"No, I call _this_ shooting," Elle stated triumphantly. [_Poomph]_

There were sounds of running feet, followed by a muffled thump. [_Poomph Poomph]_

"Hah!" Dick chuckled. "Thank you for making my point."

"Don't be an asshole," Elle groused. [_Poomph]_

"Ah, ah! Language," Dick snickered. [_Poomph]_

"Are you going to tell Alfred on me?"

"I won't have to," Dick told her. "I wasn't kidding when I said they could hear us out here." [_Poomph]_

The occupants of the living room glanced warily at Alfred, but the butler merely raised an eyebrow; an odd expression on his face.

"I'm improving," Elle said with a pout in her voice. "There! Take that!" [_Poomph Poomph]_

"At least those were in the same zip code," Dick snarked. [_Poomph]_

"Oh no, you did not just say that! I am going to shove that zip code remark down your throat, Grayson!" Elle declared. [_Poomph Poomph]_

Dick started laughing even harder. "At least _try_ to shoot in my general direction!"

"Gah! Quit jumping around so much," Elle demanded. She sounded frustrated. [_Poomph]_

By now everyone, even Bruce, was grinning; imagining the mini-marshmallow battle that was happening mere few feet from their location.

"What do you expect from a Super-Freak?" They could tell from the sound of Dick's voice that he had been moving almost constantly since this all began. [_Poomph Poomph]_

"I expect you to die like a proper super-villain!" Elle replied dramatically. [_Poomph]_

"If I am the villain, then you must be the comic relief," Dick retorted. [_Poomph_ _Poomph]_

Tim slapped a hand over his mouth to hold back his laughter.

"At least I am funnier than _you_ are," Elle quipped. [_Poomph]_

"Well, I'll admit that your shooting is hilarious," Dick agreed. [_Poomph]_

"_Oh my God_!" Elle snorted with laughter. "How did you ever survive childhood?" [_Poomph]_

"Bruce _likes_ my jokes," Dick declared. His offended tone was ruined by more laughter. [_Poomph]_

Four sets of eyes swung in Bruce's direction. His lips twitched with amusement, and he shrugged.

"Honey," Elle said, mock sympathy thick in her voice. "I love you but _nobody_ likes your jokes." [_Poomph]_

"You're just jealous because I'm winning," Dick replied. [_Poomph Poomph]_

"So what," Elle retorted. "That only makes you about as smart as you are funny!" [_Poomph]_

Tim winced in mock sympathy. "Ooh, ouch," he whispered.

Damian shushed him again with another elbow, but Tim only grinned.

Elle was still speaking. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that fiancées are supposed to be allowed to win?" [_Poomph]_

"What can I say? I come from a competitive family," Dick told her. [_Poomph Poomph_]

"Yeah? Well, so do I," Elle came back. [_Poomph_]

"Sweetheart," Dick said in mock sympathy. "I love you, but your shooting is _not_ competitive." [_Poomph]_

"_Not competitive_? Darn you, Dick Grayson! You take that back," Elle demanded. [_Poomph Poomph]_

"Okay," Dick agreed cheerfully. "_Crappy_, then! Your shooting is crappy!" [_Poomph]_

This time Bruce winced. Dick might win this battle, but he had a feeling that Elle would be the one winning the war.

"Ooh, have at thee, knave!" Elle was yelling now. "I'll have your guts for garters for that!" [_Poomph Poomph Poomph]_

Dick howled with laughter. "Baby, I'm over _here_!"

"Dang it, Dick! Stop moving!" Elle yelped. Any annoyance she might have felt was ruined by the fit of giggles that immediately followed.

Alfred's British stoicism cracked and he grinned as his four fellow-eavesdroppers began laughing outright.

"Darling," Dick gasped, breathlessly. "I don't think it would make a difference if I did."

"Gah!" Elle groused in frustration. "Fine, then. Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"Sure," Dick agreed happily. "At least the rest of the marshmallows won't go to waste. I can't believe you were willing to throw away all of these tiny marshmallows. I know how much you love them."

"Marshmallows are never wasted," Elle declared. "Besides, I still have twenty bags of them left, along with three more double-barreled shotguns, four pistols, and two mini-marshmallow crossbows all hidden throughout the manor. I'll have my revenge on you yet."

"You'd still need to be able to hit the broad side of a barn," Dick told her.

"I can hit a barn," Elle replied; sounding offended.

"I meant a barn in our same time-zone," Dick snarked cheekily. "So, who's going to clean up all of these marshmallows?"

"All of this yummy ammo, you mean? We can reuse it," Elle informed him. "Do you know where Alfred keeps the broom?"

"I know where Alfred keeps several brooms. I'll even help you," Dick offered magnanimously.

"You just want to get out of the doghouse after that barn comment," Elle laughed.

"Hm. You never did tell me where you learned to shoot," Dick reminded her.

"Nintendo," she finally admitted.

"That . . . actually makes sense," Dick laughed. "Were you any good?"

"No," Elle said; amusement lacing her tone. "Jerk!"

"You love me," Dick reminded her.

"Yes," Elle agreed. "And you are a very lucky man that I do, Dick Grayson."

"That I am," Dick agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

Silence followed, leading the occupants in the living room to believe that the marshmallow combatants had moved off to the kitchen in search of sustenance and cleaning implements.

Tim looked over at Bruce with a hopeful expression. "Bruce, please, _**please**_, tell me that you left the security cameras on in the public areas!"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He had. "I also added sound to the new system just a few months ago."

Damian whooped and leapt over the back of the sofa. "Race you to the Batcave!"

Laughing, Tim ran after him. "You're on, shorty!"

Jason smirked at the other two men and ambled off after the two younger boys.

Alfred turned to his eldest charge. "I take it you are no longer offended by Miss Arabella's marshmallow weaponry?"

Bruce shrugged and walked back over the pile of wrapping paper near his chair. He picked up the double-barreled, mini-marshmallow shotgun that Elle had given him.

"Alfred, I begin to see its uses," he said, smirking.

"And what are those?"

Bruce cocked the toy weapon and shot two marshmallows at his butler. "An excellent way to end the best Christmas this house has witnessed in decades," he said, repeating Jason's earlier declaration.

* * *

Later that afternoon found the entire Bat clan in the Batcave.

Damian was yelling as he dove and rolled for the cover of the giant penny. A barrage of mini-marshmallows followed in his wake. The guns were pathetically inaccurate. The tiny confection wasn't exactly aerodynamically suitable as ammunition and was too slow to keep up with movement unless one anticipated the target's actions in advance. But surprisingly, those difficulties made the marshmallow battle seem all the more challenging and a sight more entertaining than anyone could have predicted.

Elle's team was losing badly despite having Jason and Tim on her side. No one seemed to mind, however, as they shot at each other wildly, and then raced to find and appropriate yet another hidden bag of ammo.

"You have to quit laughing so hard," Jason critiqued Elle's actions. "That's why everyone is able to shoot you so easily!"

Elle snickered and shot at him.

"Hey! I'm on your team," he yelped. The marshmallow had gone flying past him with two feet of clearance. She really _was_ a terrible shot.

It hadn't taken but a couple of minutes of viewing the security footage earlier to convince Bruce to arrange for an epic marshmallow battle that included everyone. Jason grinned in remembered awe at hearing Bruce's startling guffaws at the video image of Dick waving his arms and presenting a huge target for Elle, only to have her marshmallows ping off of a landscape painting on the wall four feet to Dick's left.

Grinning, Bruce had told Alfred to arrange an appointment for Elle to have her vision tested after he managed to regain some semblance of control.

Bruce popped up from behind the Batmobile and shot several rounds of the white puffs in their direction. Jason grabbed Elle and dodged out of the way. He needn't have bothered as the marshmallows fell woefully short of their targets by nearly a foot. More laughter ensued.

Tim's answering fire came unexpectedly from above. He had scaled the dinosaur and was using gravity to gain more distance in reaching his target. A hail of marshmallows pinged and bounced off of the Batmobile and Bruce's head.

Damian shot several rounds in Tim's direction, but the marshmallows bounced harmlessly off of the dinosaur's belly; not even coming close to their intended quarry.

Elle took cover behind a rolling office chair and searched the cave for signs of Dick. He had disappeared several minutes earlier, and she had no doubt he was preparing an ambush. She backed up, pulling the chair with her as she rounded the side of the huge central computer. A hand came out of the shadows to grab her and Elle was yanked behind the machine.

Elle opened her mouth to yelp, but Dick's mouth came down hard on hers as he pushed her against the cave's wall. Her yell morphed into a moan as he pressed into her soft warmth. Her gun clattered to the floor as she slid her arms around his shoulders and threaded her fingers into his hair.

They smiled at each other when Dick finally raised his head.

"We should make love," he suggested, "not war."

Elle's face scrunched with suppressed laughter. "We cannot desert them now," she whispered back.

"Give me one good reason why not," he murmured into her ear as he nibbled on her lobe.

Suddenly they were pelted by dozens of marshmallows from two directions. The couple looked around them and spied Damian and Jason frowning at them from opposite sides.

"Hey! No fraternizing with the enemy," Damian warned.

"What the demon-child said," Jason barked, and sent another several rounds of marshmallows bouncing off of Dick's head.

Elle squealed with laughter! She barely managed to retrieve her weapon when Dick grabbed her hand and hauled her out from behind the computer.

"Come on," he yelled, and gave her no choice but to follow him simply by refusing to relinquish her hand.

"She's with me," Dick declared loudly as he makes a stand; shooting at both Jason and Damian.

As he laid down cover fire, Elle yanked on his shirt and they both ran for shelter.

"This way," Elle called back at him, and they duck into one of the training rooms.

"I'm almost out of marshmallows," he told her as he slammed the door behind them. He turned and found Elle digging something out from behind the mats. "What are you doing?"

"I hid these down here this afternoon when I came looking for Alfred," she said. "It's my own private cache."

"Have I told you lately how much I love you," Dick asked her as he kissed her.

He took one of the bags and began to reload. Elle finished the bag off and tucked the remaining one under Dick's shirt. As prepared as they were ever going to be, the couple moved back to the door; ready to rejoin the battle.

Dick eased the door open and slammed it shut again as marshmallows bounced off their barrier harmlessly. All four of the other combatants were lying in wait; prepared to pounce as soon as the two of them emerged.

"We're trapped," he told her in mock seriousness. "I think it's over now."

"Nightwing doesn't surrender," Elle proclaimed, grinning at him. "It's not over yet!"

As he watched, Elle opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Confused, Dick frowned at her until he heard suddenly heard them. His eyes widened!

**_Bats_**!

_Hundreds_ of them!

As they listened, they could hear the mad scrambling of feet amidst the onslaught of screeching, flying mammals. Damian and Tim were shouting while Jason could be heard cursing. Bruce, however, was laughing madly.

"Okay, Elle," Bruce called out over the din. "Call them off! You two win!"

Dick opened the door warily, and the two emerged as the bats finally began disappearing back into the depths of the cave system.

Bruce is leaning over with his hands on his knees, grinning.

"You win," he conceded.

Jason was standing just behind Bruce with his hair comically standing on end. He glared at them, breathless. "_What the holy **fuck** was that_?!"

Tim crawls out from under the computer console. "Are they gone?"

Damian appeared from behind him. His eyes were huge. "I don't get it! What made them attack us?"

Elle was immediately contrite. "Oh, ah, shoot! I'm sorry, Dami," she said. "They weren't attacking you."

Four pairs of eyes centered on her.

"What were they doing if not attacking," Bruce asked, frowning.

Elle grinned sheepishly. "They were _dancing_!"

". . . "

"The_ fuck, _you say!" Jason gaped at her.

Dick started laughing. "How did you do that, really?"

He remembered the first time Elle had tried this. The bats had swarmed her and Elle had freaked out. Dick would have sworn that she would never have tried that trick again standing in the cave.

Elle shrugged her shoulders. "I figured it out," was all she would admit to.

Aiming her marshmallow rifle into the air, she fired a round off in triumph. A lone bat shrieked and swooped in to catch the tiny marshmallow puff in its claws. She gasped in surprise as it flew off into the dark shadows of the cave's roof with its treasure. Answering screeches echoed throughout the cave.

Jason, Tim, and Damian all ducked, but Elle shook her fist at the offending creature.

"That was _my_ marshmallow," she yelled after it.

Dick started laughing, and slowly the nervous laughter of the others joined him one by one.

"We win," he declared with a grin; lifting Elle into his arms.

"Hell, yes, you win," Jason agreed hotly. He looked at Elle with new respect. "That was pretty cool, but don't ever do that again," he huffed at her, and then muttered under his breath. "At least, not while I'm here."

* * *

Dinner was a boisterous affair with everyone attempting to talk over each other as they recalled the attack of the bats, the epic marshmallow battle below, and discussed between them the different strategies that they would use the _next_ time. Bruce presides over the chaos with a smile and a deep sense of satisfaction.

This was, indeed, the best Christmas that he could remember ever having . . . His family was all gathered around one table. Not only were they not attempting to kill each other, but were actually laughing or arguing good-naturedly and having a wonderful time! With one another, no less!

Bruce would call it a miracle if he actually believed in them. The day was far, far more than he could have ever hoped for . . .

Dick and Elle were seated together, side by side this time, as their self-proclaimed reward for winning the battle so soundly. Jason and Tim sat on the other side with only Damian between them; their animosity temporarily forgotten in the moment. Bruce was not foolish enough to believe that the troubles of the past had been banished entirely, but it was a good start . . .

A great start . . .

"And now to end a wonderful day," Alfred was saying.

The butler sat down a silver tray on which sat seven mugs of steaming hot chocolate; all of which were piled high with dozens of tiny mini-marshmallows!

Five groans follow, but Elle was delighted.

"You can never have too many marshmallows," she announced, picking up her mug. "Merry Christmas, everyone!"

"Merry Christmas, Elle," Damian said as he climbed to his knees on the chair in order to reach for his own mug. Everyone else chimed in as well as they all reached for their drinks.

And it was . . .

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**I am hoping this wasn't too OOC for the Bat Fam. Had this happened early on, I think maybe it would have been, but after everything, I felt like this was indeed possible to achieve. Eventually, this family will learn to love each other and to get along without murder and mayhem . . . They can fight and argue all they want in other stories, but this one is ultimately about love and laughter and reconciliation. **

**Enjoy the fluff, because eventually the darkness must set in as Aiden stays true to his word . . . **


	74. Afternoon Delight

**This takes place about 4 days after Christmas.**

**WARNING: Some Language, Nudity, Sexuality . . . (Depending on your imagination, this should be nothing worse than anything on Prime Time television.)**

* * *

"Elle? You home?"

Silence greeted him as Dick let himself into Elle's apartment at around nine that morning. He only had a few minutes before he needed to get back out on patrol, so he quickly carried two boxes of his personal belongings in and set them on the dining room table. As much as he liked the fact that his apartment was in one of the worst neighborhoods in Bludhaven, he didn't like it so much for Elle.

He had, in fact, chosen his apartment for its location. It put him in the thick of things, and as Nightwing, it gave him a place close by that he could retreat to if he were injured on patrol. But the idea of Elle coming home at two o'clock in the morning from work in that neighborhood . . . If she could be attacked in her decent neighborhood, the chances of that being repeated in his were far greater, and it terrified him.

No, it was better to give up his apartment and move in here. That was the thing about Bludhaven. Crime was equal opportunity in this city. It was everywhere. Besides, he was going to keep his nest . . . the apartment he rented anonymously above his old one where he stored most of his Nightwing paraphernalia. He would see about creating some secret storage in Elle's extra bedroom and split his equipment between the two. He thought he could create a false wall in the large walk-in closet that would work well.

Elle had been busy making room for his things. A shelf on the entertainment center had been cleared for him, and she had rearranged a grouping of pictures on the wall so that it could include some of his photos as well. He opened one of the boxes that contained books, a few movies, and some pictures; pulling out the one of him and his parents and another that contained Bruce and Alfred, and set them on the table. He had more of Damian and Tim, but only one that had Jason in it. Although Alfred had been snapping pictures left and right during Christmas. Dick would make sure that he received copies of those as well.

After living with a butler for years, Dick had gotten into the bad habit of just leaving his stuff wherever it fell. Elle had been trying to break him of that. He was better than he had been, but he saw evidence of his presence throughout the living room. His workout clothes were still laying where he had left them near the front door, he noticed, frowning.

Elle was usually quick to get his gym bag out of the living room or to harangue him into moving it. He glanced at the clock again. It was too early for Elle to have left for rehearsals. She must have gone out to run some errands, he decided, and hadn't taken the time to straighten yet this morning.

Taking a moment, he stopped to see if he could 'feel' her. Cedric had told him recently that the bond's limits would increase over time until they could not only sense one another's emotions over a great distance, but could eventually locate each other physically the same way.

That would be a neat trick, Dick thought. They were only just shy of three months into their bonding, so he could usually only sense Elle's emotions if she were close to him right now; except the distress during an extended separation or she was in real danger. That was part of the reason behind his giving her the whistle keyring with the locator embedded in it. Eventually, he would be able to find her anywhere on the planet, but they were still years away from that ability.

He didn't expect to be receiving anything at the moment, but Dick 'felt' a wave of distress that didn't belong to him.

_What_?

He concentrated on Elle and focused. Was she in danger?

No, it was not that kind of distress . . . But what? Where was she? She had to be close for him to feel her at all. Was she home?

Dick's eyes snapped open. If she was home, why hadn't she come out to greet him? He had thought she had gone out.

Fear swept through him as he ran to the bedroom; pulling out his gun. Home invasions weren't unheard of even in Elle's neighborhood, although her building had its own security.

"Elle?" Dick shoved open the door and found her. The relief was immediate and great. Suddenly he felt like his legs weighed a hundred pounds. He tucked his service weapon back into its holster.

When she didn't acknowledge him right away, however, the concern was back in a rush.

"Elle, baby? What's wrong?"

A moan greeted him. Dick was around the bed and kneeling beside her in a second flat.

She was sweaty and clammy. Was she sick? He thought she didn't get sick . . .

"Elle, speak to me, baby! What's going on?" He ran a hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty strands off of her face.

"Dick?" Elle opened her eyes and blinked up at him. "I don't feel so good," she admitted, miserably.

"What happened, sweetheart?" She didn't have a fever, he noted with relief, but that just made her symptoms that much harder to diagnose.

"I don't know," she whined. "I woke up feeling nauseous."

"Have you ever had something like this before?"

"No," she sniffled into her pillow. "Never. I felt fine when I went to bed last night."

Dick thought back to the previous evening. "We had Chinese for dinner," he murmured.

_Food poisoning_?

It was possible. They each had separate items from the menu, although they had each taken bites of the other's meal. Dick did a sound check of his own body, but he felt fine. Maybe he just didn't eat enough of her food to have made him ill. He would toss out that particular restaurant's menu, however. He didn't want a repeat of this.

"I'm sorry, baby," Dick sympathized. "It will probably pass quickly though if it came from the food. Have you thrown up yet?"

Elle buried her face under the covers and groaned.

_Well, that answered that question_.

"You should probably call in sick to work," Dick suggested gently. Tonight was one of Elle's nights to sing, but she couldn't perform in this condition.

A sob reached him through the blankets.

"Ah, Elle, don't cry," he begged. "Do you want me to get you something?" He hated to hear Elle crying.

"I w-want to sing," she sobbed, piteously.

"But you can't go on stage like this," he told her reasonably.

"Maybe it will go away in time?"

She really did heal up a lot faster than the normal person. He supposed it was possible, but he hated to get her hopes up and then have them dashed later.

"Maybe," he admitted cautiously. "But you should still call Randi, and give her a heads up, just in case."

The sigh was just barely audible beneath the covers. "Can you call?"

_Wow! She must really feel bad_ . . .

"Sure, baby. Where's your cell phone?"

"On the table in the living room," she pulled the blankets down. "It's probably finished charging by now."

"Right."

He found it sitting on the little table Elle used to keep her keys on and toss the mail. He found Randi's number and hit call. As he waited for her to pick up, Dick looked at the photo of the two of them dancing that first night. Elle had put it up on the wall in a place of honor. You couldn't miss it when you walked into the apartment, being directly opposite the front door.

That had been a turning point in his life . . . The best thing that had ever happened to him. Dick thought back to those first terrible weeks after his parents had died so long ago. He had wondered then why he had lived and had wished often during that time that he had joined them when his pain had been too great to bear.

This, he decided, this was the reason he had continued to live when his world had crumbled around him. For that moment . . . His fingers traced Elle's face in the picture. She'd truly loved him; even then.

Randi was accommodating. Elle had covered for her numerous times, after all. She asked to talk to her, and Dick brought the phone over to the bed.

"Randi wants to talk to you," he murmured to the mound of covers.

Instead of pulling the blankets from her head, a hand peeked out to take the phone. Dick smiled and set the cell into it; watching it disappear back under the covers.

"I have to go now," he told her. "Are you sure you don't need anything before I leave?"

Elle peeked out of the blankets at him; shaking her head. "Go," she croaked.

Dick leaned in and kissed her forehead. Elle grimaced, and yanked the covers back over her head.

"Ew, Dick," she groaned. "I'm gross."

He chuckled and patted the mound. "Keep your phone nearby," he ordered, "and call me if you need me."

Her hand peeked out and waved him away.

_Poor baby_ . . . He would swing by in a few hours and check on her.

* * *

"You sound miserable." Randi's voice drifted through the phone.

"Makes sense," Elle told her, "since that's the way I feel."

"What's wrong with you," her friend asked. "You never get sick."

"Dick thinks its food poisoning. We had Chinese takeout last night." Elle fought back another wave of nausea. Just the thought of Chinese had her stomach churning and her head spinning.

"Dick didn't sound sick when I spoke to him," Randi said. "I thought I heard him say he was going back out to work?"

"He just left," Elle told her. "And we had different items on the menu."

"No sharing?"

"Just a couple of bites between us," Elle swallowed a mouthful of saliva. "Ugh, please, can we talk about something else?"

Randi laughed a little. "Sure," she said. "But if he had a few bites of your food, he should be feeling sick as well."

"Nnnrgh," Elle groaned; no longer listening as she contemplated a run to the restroom.

"Okay, okay, I'll let you go," Randi told her. "Don't worry about tonight. I'll get ahold of Brian and Morris for you. Call me, though, if you start to feel better."

"Don't you mean if I start to feel worse?"

"No. If you start to feel worse, you call Dick," her friend said. "If you start to feel better, then call me and we'll talk some more. Later, then."

* * *

Dick stopped by the apartment during his lunchbreak to check on Elle. He had planned to eat his Chinese leftovers, but decided to throw out the whole lot of it since Elle got sick. If he remembered correctly, there should still be some lunchmeat. He could make a sandwich.

As he opened the door, a delicious aroma struck him.

_Oh my God, what is that_?

Dick went straight for the kitchen and lifted the lid of the skillet simmering on the stove. Chicken Cacciatore . . . One of his favorites! There was a salad and homemade dressing sitting on the counter, and a towel covering what he knew was fresh baked bread. He peeked in the oven and saw cheese-stuffed shell pasta baking. He closed the door and wandered back into the living room.

Had Randi come over to cook? He didn't think she was Italian. This had all the signs and smells of an 'Elle' meal, but when he had left here three hours ago, she had looked like death warmed over.

He headed in the direction of the bedroom, but heard the shower as he neared the bathroom. He looked into the bedroom anyway, and saw that the linens had been changed and the bed made.

_Huh, she was obviously feeling better now_.

After mentioning Elle's illness to his superiors he was cleared to take an hour lunch. Grinning, Dick stripped off his belt and laid it on the dresser. He began stripping and draping his uniform over the chair to prevent wrinkles. A mid-day shower sounded pretty darn good right about now.

Elle was shampooing her hair as Dick eased open the curtain and stepped into the shower/tub combo behind her. She was going to kill him for this, but it didn't stop him. He slid his hands around her waist as he kissed her shoulder.

Elle screamed and tried to turn around, but slipped. Dick caught her and pulled her up against his chest, as she clutched at his shoulders for purchase.

"You're feeling better, I see," he chuckled.

Elle blinked at him; gasping, and immediately slapped at his chest.

"Oooh, I'm going to _kill_ you, Dick Grayson," she shrieked at him.

He caught her wrists before she did him serious damage. "I have no doubt that you'll find a way to make me regret this, but I'm not going to regret it right now," he murmured; enjoying the feel of her slippery body against his. "And you smell better now, too."

"_You jerk_! Now, I've got shampoo in my eyes," Elle complained; pouting.

"Ah, damn! I'm sorry," Dick muttered as he backed her under the spray.

He helped her rinse her hair and eyes of the soap; supporting her in case she felt wobbly after her scare. It _had_ been mean of him, but then so had dumping a tarantula on him while he was sleeping. If she was still mad at him at the end of the shower, he would remind her of paybacks, and she would huff and forgive him.

He was just happy that she was no longer sick.

Now that the last of the bubbles had been banished, Dick swooped in for a kiss; allowing the water to run over his head and face. He no longer worried overmuch about little things like breathing when kissing Elle, and apparently she didn't either as her arms moved to encircle him.

She tasted of toothpaste and mouthwash, and felt like heaven as his hands wandered liberally. She moaned into his mouth and leaned into him.

"You are better now, aren't you," he asked her when they came up for air.

She laid her head on his chest, murmuring the affirmative.

"How much better?" The question was leading, and Elle proved that she was psychic by reading his mind. He gasped, and murmured in pleasure. "That much, eh?"

She turned her face up wearing nothing but a sleepy smile.

"You sure?" As much as he wanted this, he did _not_ want to hurt her.

"Jerk," she grumbled in mock annoyance.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you still angry with me?"

"I'll strangle you later," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Now, shut up and kiss me!"

He knew it! She had forgiven him already.

Dick smiled even as he pressed her back against the tiles; eager and willing to follow her imperious orders.

* * *

God, how he loved this woman!

The meal was fabulous! But he was sleepy now. Not enough time to even catch a power nap after making love and eating a large meal. He only had five minutes left before he needed to get back out there and resume his shift.

"You amaze me," he said for what must have been the thousandth time.

"You've had my chicken cacciatore before," Elle laughed, taking his plate into the kitchen.

"The food was, too, but that wasn't what I meant. I told my boss that you were dying," Dick told her; picking up the salad bowl and the bread. He followed her into the kitchen. "_**I**_ thought you were dying!"

Elle snorted. "You did not, or you wouldn't have left," she said knowingly.

He set the dishes down and wrapped her up in his arms. Nuzzling her neck, he agreed with her. "No. You're right. I wouldn't have."

Elle leaned back against him; luxuriating as much in the feeling of his love as she did his body. She turned her head so that he could kiss her lips.

"Mm . . . You better get going, Officer Grayson," she smiled against his lips. "Or you'll be late. Bludhaven is waiting for you to save her."

"Like you saved me . . ." He pressed on last kiss to her forehead before letting her go and moving back to the bedroom to retrieve his belt.

"You're still staying home tonight, right," Dick asked, reentering the living room as he finished buckling the tools of his trade around his waist.

"I'm feeling so much better . . ." she began, but tapered off at Dick's look of disbelief. "What?"

"You could barely lift your head off of the pillow four hours ago," he stated.

"I heal fast."

Dick shook his head. "No. Elle . . . Just no. Stay home and get well."

"Dick, I feel fine now," she argued. "It was just a passing thing!"

"Then give it til tomorrow to pass," he said firmly. "Elle, you were really sick!"

She pursed her lips and leaned against the couch; swinging the kitchen towel from hand to hand. "Funny, you weren't all that worried about how sick I was when you climbed into the shower with me!"

Dick frowned. "That's not fair. I would have left you alone if you hadn't been feeling better!"

She smiled smugly; knowing she got him. "Exactly!"

"Fine," he said. He wasn't happy about it, but she had proven her point. He radioed in to dispatch that he was back on duty and reached for the door.

Elle followed him to the door. "Are you going to stop by the club later?"

Dick turned to face her. He could feel the sudden nervousness that ran through her. She thought he was angry with her. He wasn't, but he couldn't help but worry about her. It was hard to remember sometimes that she didn't need the same recovery time as ordinary women.

"No," he said, but quickly clarified before she could be too disappointed. "I have a lead that I need to follow tonight. I'll be by at closing to follow you home, though."

The nervousness went away and warmth followed.

"You don't have to do that anymore, you know," she reminded him. "I think the car is finally reliable enough to suit even you."

"I'll be there," Dick growled. "Lock the door behind me."

She blew him a kiss and closed the door in his face. He waited until he heard the lock click into place before returning to patrol.

A smile lifted his lips in the elevator as he watched the floors scroll by. Not even an argument could tarnish a great afternoon, but then again, their arguments were seldom knock-down, drag-outs. The two of them usually were able to sort out whatever their problems were in a few short minutes, in fact. If that was the worst they had to worry about, Dick thought optimistically, then life was looking up . . . _Finally_!

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**It's feeling a little like a desert here in reviewland . . . Remember, I treasure your guys' opinions. I enjoy hearing your thoughts about the story and where you might think it's headed. I don't always tell you because I don't want to give away the surprise, but every so often some of you get it, if not right, at least to second or third base with your guesses. **


	75. Show's Over

****I put out chapter 74 less than a day after chapter 73, so you probably didn't get a second alert if you are following this story. If you haven't read "74 - Afternoon Delight", then go back and check it out first.** **

**WARNING: Some Strong Language . . .**

* * *

"I can't believe you came in tonight," Randi commented as she sat in the dressing room and watched Elle adding last touches to her makeup. "You sounded like shit over the phone."

Elle met her friend's gaze in the mirror. "I feel better," she shrugged.

Randi got up and stood next to her. The differences in their height and build was only a thin slice of all the things that separated them physically. Randi was taller by three inches and was willowy and graceful, even when the music wasn't playing. Her short dark hair was worn in an asymmetrical, chin-length bob and her skin was a pale porcelain crème that made Elle feel dusky in comparison. In fact, the elegant singer made most women appear dumpy and clumsy when standing next to her.

In Elle's case, the clumsy part was real, but the rest was just . . . different.

Randi's large eyes were a startling sky blue surrounding by lush, black lashes that most people mistook for artificial. The red lipstick she favored, while fabulous on her, made Elle look trampy. The only thing they had in common besides their love of music was their sense of style and their sense of humor. These two could laugh at anything, and usually did; often garnering sour looks from others who had never managed to remove the sticks up their butts.

"Well, I have to admit, you look great," the taller woman admitted. "Dick seems to bring out the best in you, I think."

Elle smiled knowingly.

"But . . ." Randi tapped a red-tipped nail against her chin, "there is something else about you tonight."

Elle glanced back at herself; curious as to what the other woman was talking about. Her hair was teased and swept to one side into a low ponytail that lay in large curls on her bare shoulder. Her pale aquamarine gown draped from the opposite shoulder and resembled nothing more than something the queen of the ocean might wear; a modern interpretation of the Greco-Roman style. It had rhinestone brooches that gathered the chiffon at her bustline and again low at her hip before flowing down to her ankles in transparent layers.

Elle tugged at the top of her gown. It felt tighter than usual. She shouldn't have eaten two helpings of the chicken cacciatore before coming tonight. She felt bloated. She hoped that wasn't the start of her nausea returning. It probably hadn't been a good idea to have had tomato sauce after being sick either.

She sighed. _Too late now_ . . .

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elle shook her head.

Randi frowned and walked around her.

Elle rolled her eyes. "Are you _trying_ to make me nervous?"

"Nooo . . ." Randi drew the word out as she considered the shorter, curvier woman in front of her.

"This is ridiculous," Elle ignored her friend as she finished up by putting on a pair of rhinestone earrings. "If I don't have something stuck in my teeth, then quit staring at me!"

Randi laughed. "Sorry," she said, grinning. "It's not a bad thing, though . . ."

Elle stepped back and ran her eyes over her person one last time. Her gaze flicked back at her friend. "Seriously," she muttered. "I feel fat standing next to you! Eat some meat, girl!"

Randi laughed again and then suddenly gasped. _She knew what it was_ . . .

"Elle, are you . . ."

A knock on the door interrupted Randi's question.

When no one called out, Brian Donovan, the restaurant/club owner, peeked in.

"Elle," he said. "You're on in two. Get your butt in gear, woman!"

Elle's eyes snapped to the clock. "Oh no! How did I let you distract me for so long?"

With a faraway smile on her face, Randi watched the other woman pick up her skirt and run out the door.

_She has no idea_ . . . Randi smirked. _This was going to be so much fun_!

* * *

Hugh entered the club with Hendricks while Edward parked the car. The bouncer had called over his radio for backup because it was obvious that the men weren't here for the show. They were here on a mission. They were here to bring Miss Arabella home.

He didn't doubt they would be successful this time. Watching her discover her independence had been like watching a flower bloom. If he could, Hugh would prefer that they left her here, where she was happy, but it wasn't possible. In the end, it wouldn't even be right, even if he would have been doing her a favor.

He hated this! Hated it! But he and Edward were the best chance she had at getting through this. They and Grayson . . . He wondered if the man was here. She would need him, but Hugh realized that Tuesday wasn't a day the younger man usually came to watch her sing. The chances that Grayson would be where Hugh wanted him to be were slender, at best.

The owner of the restaurant/club met them in the lobby.

"Gentlemen," he intercepted them. "What can I do for you?"

Hugh told him. We're here for Miss Hamilton."

"I'm sorry, but she's in the middle of the show," Brian told them.

That wouldn't to stop them, however. She was needed.

"The show's over," Hugh told him.

* * *

Red Robin landed on the rooftop behind his brother. Nightwing didn't know he was coming, but, unlike the Red Hood, Tim knew that he wouldn't react to another mask in his territory with violence.

Gotham was slow tonight. An unusual occurrence that would normally send Tim home to study for his next college exam, but finals were over two weeks ago, and he had nothing to distract him. Batman and Robin had Gotham covered.

But Bludhaven . . . Bludhaven was like a virus! Nightwing was bound to have his hands full over here, Tim thought. He wouldn't balk at Tim's offer. In fact, Red Robin was positive that Nightwing would welcome having the company!

"Far from home, Red Robin," Nightwing greeted him without turning around.

Red Robin hadn't made any noise landing on the roof. He was sure of that. Nightwing was just that good. Only Nightwing and the Batman would have noticed his arrival. He didn't know about the Red Hood, but Tim was positive that he could have gotten the slip on the demon brat, had he wanted to.

"Slow night," he said by way of explanation. "Thought you might like the company."

Nightwing still hadn't look away from his quarry, but his lips curved up in a smile. "You're always welcome, little brother," he told the younger man.

"So, what are we looking at," Red Robin asked; settling down to business.

"Remember Angelopoulos?"

"That Greek mobster from two years ago that was trying to get a foothold in Gotham?" Yeah, Red Robin remembered him.

"Looks like he's back, and he's settling for Bludhaven, instead," Nightwing flicked his lenses, telescoping to view the scene at a closer angle.

Tim took a closer look himself, but didn't recognize either of the four men below. "How do you know it's the Dark Angel," referring to the Greek in question by his underworld nickname.

"Rumors mostly," Nightwing admitted. "I did a little research and was able to pull up a photograph of a man entering the U.S. a couple of months ago that resembled Angelopoulos using that facial recognition software you developed. Neither the FBI nor Interpol caught it, but _you_ did," Nightwing praised him.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Red Robin's face. _Yes_!

While Dick was far more generous with his compliments than Bruce, his sincerity made each one a highly-valued commodity nevertheless.

"What is it this time," Red Robin asked.

"Looks as if he's graduated from moving illegals arms up to cargo of the human variety," Nightwing's smile slid away, leaving behind a deadly grim expression.

"You're kidding? Human trafficking?"

"And whispers of organ harvesting on the black market." Nightwing grimaced. "Apparently there isn't anything too low for this guy."

Red Robin watched a while longer in silence. "So, what are we doing? Is this surveillance only, or are we breaking a few heads tonight?"

"I'm searching for information," Dick told him. "And I'm not picky about how we go about getting it."

"Good," Red Robin cracked his knuckles and pulled out his bo-staff. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon extended to its full length. "I'm in the mood for a little exercise."

Nightwing pulled out his grapple; taking aim at the tall building across the street. "Hard and fast, Red Robin," he snarled. "Hit 'em hard and fast, but leave the guy in the suit for me."

They dove off of the building toward the targets below.

* * *

While Red Robin handled two of the men for him, Nightwing kicked one of his off of his feet and into the building several feet behind him. He grunted as he slammed first into the stone wall and then again when he toppled into a bundle of trash cans. The sound was loud on the semi-deserted streets.

Out of his periphery, Nightwing saw his target run. The coward didn't bother trying to shoot them. When he acknowledged that the first man wouldn't be getting up without help anytime soon, Nightwing turned his attention toward Angel's man; running after him.

As he neared his target, Nightwing shot another grapple into the next building and hit recoil. Immediately, he was propelled upward. He grabbed the guy by the back of his jacket and lifted him off of his feet.

He was no lightweight, but the reason Dick was in the gym five out of seven days a week. The tiny motor of the grapnel gun whined in protest at the extra weight being pulled upward at its top speed. Nightwing caught a whiff of something burning. It didn't matter, however, as they reached the upper levels of the taller building.

Seventeen stories up, Nightwing grunted as he used his momentum to flip the man in his grip up and into the air above him.

Angel's man was quick to realize when he had stopped being pulled and began a free fall. He screamed as he caught sight of the sidewalk far below in the midst of his tumble. Before he dropped a few feet, however, Nightwing had caught him again by his ankle this time. In seconds, the crimefighter flew atop the building's roofline and tossed his burden onto the tar and gravel surface.

"Time to talk, Mitchell," Nightwing growled.

Randolph Mitchell was Angelopoulos' first lieutenant and right-hand man. When he had learned that the contraband being smuggled into and out of Bludhaven, and likely Gotham City as well, were people; Nightwing didn't waste his time with the lower level punks. He went straight for upper management.

He also wasn't above a little Batman-style intimidation . . . with a little Nightwing flourish, of course.

Mitchell rolled onto his back, and was scooting away from the crazy man who had swiped him right off of the street in front of three of his men. His right hand was buried in his jacket, searching for his gun.

Behind his mask, Nightwing raised an eyebrow. Why did they always try defiance first? The man was white as a sheet, sweating bullets, and shaking like a leaf . . . When he couldn't think of any more clichés to describe him, Nightwing descended on the man like the predator he was.

The revolver had barely cleared its holster when Nightwing kicked the weapon out of Mitchell's hand and sent it clattering across the roof. No more wasting time. For every minute that passed was another woman or child that was taken from their lives and families. He punched Mitchell in the face.

The man shook his head like a dog, and sneered at him.

"That the best you got?" Mitchell laughed. "I didn't get to where I am by stooling. Especially not from a measly love tap!"

Nightwing smiled . . . but it wasn't his nice one.

"I was hoping you would prove to be stubborn," the crimefighter growled as he smacked the older man's fist away. "But as I don't have all night . . ."

Nightwing grabbed the man's shirt and hauled him over to the edge. Mitchell's eyes widened and he scrabbled for purchase, but there was nothing up here to hang on to. His hands clamped onto Nightwing's wrists.

"Ah, ah," Nightwing warned. "You might not want to do that at the moment."

Mitchell rolled his eyes down and saw that, once more, he was dangling over the sidewalk.

"What's with you costumed bastards and heights," Mitchell choked out. His feet kicked the open air. "Damn you!"

"Since you can look forward to many an evening just like this one, you might consider easing up on the pasta and bread sticks and choosing the salad bar instead," Nightwing suggested; grunting for effect.

Mitchell gasped for breath and managed what might have been a chuckle around the wad of linen at his neck. "Meaning . . . that you . . . have . . . no intention . . . of killing me." He grinned. "Meaning . . . I don't . . . have to . . . talk."

Nightwing bared his teeth. "Meaning . . . I don't think you are so stupid as to be willing to die over a little information."

"Yeah . . . well . . . fuck . . . you," Mitchell sneered. His face was turning beet red, but he didn't appear impressed with Nightwing's chosen method of intimidation. "I . . . ain't . . . scared . . . of . . . some . . . spandexed . . . freak!"

And that was the problem. Angelopoulos was well known for his brutality and thirst for vengeance against any perceived wrong. He was a killer, and _that_ was when he was being merciful. You really didn't want to live if you got on his bad side. Apparently there were a lot of things that were considered worse than death.

* * *

Elle was in the middle of her song when she spotted Brian making his way toward the stage with another man in tow . . . An awfully familiar man.

Hendricks.

Elle's eyes widened and her song faltered.

The fact that it was her father's bodyguard was telling. Song forgotten, Elle's eyes swept the back of the room for a man in a wheelchair, but there were none fitting the description. She glanced back at Hendricks and felt her heart begin to pound. The grimness of his face told her the rest of the story even as her heart denied it.

She had planned to go up to Chicago after the New Year; just a few days away. She had just spoken to her father yesterday. He has sounded weak, but in good spirits. He had sounded fine.

It was too soon! It was too soon . . .

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and Elle looked over at Randi. It wasn't until the other performer had taken the microphone out of her hand and turned it off, that Elle realized that she had been saying that last thought out loud for the audience to hear. _It's too soon_ . . .

She turned away from her friend's sympathetic expression just in time to see Brian holding his hand out to her to help her off of the stage. Frightened, but otherwise, numb, Elle took the proffered hand and moved down the steps. Hendricks was waiting for her at the bottom.

The question was ripped out of her. She didn't want to ask it; she didn't want to know. Knowledge made it real. Ignorance meant she could still be wrong.

"Where's Poppa? Why aren't you with Poppa?"

Hendricks didn't answer her; just laid a hand on her back to lead her out of the club. Elle flinched, despite herself. Brian caught her arm. It was probably a good thing as she felt herself shaking.

As they neared the lobby area, Elle asked Hendricks again. "Why aren't you with my father?"

Hugh stepped forward. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "Don't say that!"

Hendricks couldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the floor as he finally answered her. "Cedric Hamilton passed this evening at ten fifteen. We flew down to get you. The company jet is waiting at the Bludhaven Municipal Airport."

Her knees went weak and Hugh helped her to a bench.

"_Noooo_ . . ." she moaned softly, covering her face with her hands.

In her head, however, she was screaming.

* * *

The scream came out of nowhere; startling him and making his grip falter. Mitchell gasped in disbelief as he fell. Precious seconds were used as Nightwing glanced around him, searching for the impossible on the roof.

_She can't possibly be here! S__he was supposed to be singing tonight_ . . .

Another scream rent the air, drawing his attention back to Mitchell.

_Damn_! _How did that happen_?

Nightwing yanked his grapnel gun back out; shooting it even as he aimed. The hook shot down rapidly wrapping itself around one of Mitchell's legs, and Nightwing braced himself as he yanked the line tight and pulled - Hard!

The second scream wasn't one of fear, but one of pain as the abrupt stop of Mitchell's aborted fall dislocated the man's knee. Grunting with the effort it took to hold the two hundred pound man, Nightwing managed to hit recoil and then allowed the grapnel gun to do the work of hauling his fat ass back up the side of the building and over the edge of the roof.

Red Robin joined him on the roof in time to help drag Mitchell a safe distance from the edge.

"What the hell happened," Tim asked softly. "You nearly lost him!"

Nightwing's answer was interrupted by Mitchell's sudden change of heart as the weeping man began giving up every bit of information he had on Angelopoulos' organization. Information on their human trafficking and organ harvesting; information on their drug deals, including their contacts; information on their runs of illegal weapons and ordinance; gambling; prostitution; money laundering; the protection racket . . . More than Nightwing had been after.

Red Robin looked over at his brother; impressed. "Crude, but damned effective," he said of what he mistakenly believed was a tactic to make Mitchell sing.

But Nightwing's mind was elsewhere. The scream that he had heard that had made him drop the man had been Elle's voice. Another quick glance around confirmed what he had realized earlier . . . Elle wasn't here. The sound had been in his head . . .

She was in trouble. Something was wrong . . . He had to go!

Grateful that Tim had chosen tonight to visit him, Nightwing slapped him on the shoulder. "Record that. Take notes, especially on the dates and times of shipment for the human cargo. Contact the police!"

"Wait," Red Robin called after him even as he turned on the camera in his mask. "Where are _you_ going?"

"I've got trouble," was all there was time for as Nightwing disappeared over the side of the building. He shot out a line in the direction of his bike.

He had to find Elle!

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Uh oh . . . **

**Btw, Erobos Angelopoulos is a villain I created for another Batman/Nightwing story. You might recognize the name (It is unique! Erobos means "Dark" in Greek.). He can be found in "Six Bullets For Christmas". **


	76. Dark Reflections

**The story is taking a more serious turn. I'll tell you now that there is NO major character death in this story. It is enough that the threat is there. But I can hardly create a sequel for this if my main characters kick it here. Supporting characters, however, are on their own . . . Each chapter, like the previous ones, will all come with warnings if you are sensitive to darker, deeper themes. **

**That being said . . . If you love me, please review. I miss hearing from you. Yeah, YOU! You know who you are. ;P**

**WARNING: Language, Grief, and Images of Death . . .**

* * *

Grief . . .

Unrelenting sadness . . . It tore at him, but by the time Nightwing had arrived at Chez Donovan's, he knew that Elle wasn't in danger. But she still needed him. He knew this in his very core as he hid the bike and located Elle's black Yugo in the parking lot next to the restaurant/club.

Double checking for any spectators, Dick opened the trunk and pulled out a gym bag in which he kept a spare set of clothes. He disappeared into the alley across the street and reappeared less than ten minutes later as Dick Grayson. He locked his Nightwing uniform inside of the Yugo and trotted to the entrance of the club.

At one fifteen in the morning, the lines were nonexistent.

"She's not here anymore," Igor told him even as he held the door open for him.

Dick's steps faltered. "What do you mean, she's not here? Her car is in the parking lot!"

Igor shrugged. "She left with several gentlemen a little more than an hour ago."

Something inside of him clenched. He couldn't tell what the emotions were that were roiling around in his gut, but they were definitely uncomfortable. Who the hell would she leave with? And why would she do it without calling him and telling him about it?

"Did she leave me a message at least," he asked.

Igor shook his head and pointed inside. "I don't know much. She didn't give me anything. Maybe Shannon knows. Brian might be able to tell you more."

Dick nodded. "Right."

"I can tell you that she was mighty upset when she left, though," Igor commented.

Dick thanked him, but this wasn't news to him. He already knew she was mighty upset.

Shannon, the sea-witch, took one look at him and raced around the desk. He was shocked when she threw her arms around him.

"What's going on?"

"She's not here," Shannon cried.

"Igor told me. Do you know why and who she left with?" Dick questioned her. It was always touch and go with Shannon whether or not she would help him by answering his questions. She had already proven guilty of harboring a grudge against him.

"One of them I recognized as one of her bodyguards," she said.

"She went to Chicago?" Dick had a feeling he knew exactly what happened.

"Yes. She left near midnight. I overheard them talking, though. Elle's father died a few hours ago," Shannon told him; confirming his fear. "I don't know why I'm so upset. I only met the man once, but I haven't been able to stop crying since I saw Elle break down."

Dick suspected the reason had something to do with the hostess being in such close proximity to Elle's emotional overload.

"You _are_ going to go to Chicago, aren't you?"

"You have to ask," Dick was a little offended.

"It's just that you ducked out on her before," Shannon wiped her eyes with a tissue. Whatever eye makeup she had started the evening with was long gone by now.

He made a frustrated noise. "That was _one_ time!

"One time that lasted three weeks," she reminded him.

"I thought we had already established it was work related," he grumbled.

"Sorry," Shannon said, although Dick thought that she just enjoyed getting in her little digs at him, even if she was crying her eyes out at the time. "You better hurry, then. They said they were flying out. It's only an hour's flight." She checked her watch. "She's probably already arrived by now."

Dick blinked. Elle was in Chicago . . . upset and alone. Her brother was bound to be there! And he had close to a three hour drive before he could reach her! But Shannon said her bodyguards were with her.

He relaxed. Hugh and Edward wouldn't let anything happen to her until he could get there.

He turned to go, but called out over his shoulder as Shannon moved back behind her desk. "You might want to touch up your makeup," he told her with an evil smirk. "You look like the zombie apocalypse has arrived!"

He allowed himself a brief flash of enjoyment at her outraged gasp, and headed back in the direction of Elle's Yugo. He would contact Tim and see if he would locate his bike and take it back to the Batcave for safe keeping for him. Dick had a road trip ahead of him, and it would take up most of the night.

* * *

Elle was still in her gown when they arrived at the house. She was a little startled when Franklin wasn't there to open the door for her. Hendricks unlocked the door and let them in instead.

"Where is Frankie?"

Hugh and Edward looked confused, but Hendricks shook his head.

"Franklin was let go," he told her regretfully. "Yesterday."

Elle spun around, almost toppling in her heels. Edward grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"What?! Why," she demanded. Franklin was the only servant her father had left that was loyal to her, and the only full-time, live-in one in Cedric's employ besides Hendricks and Lazlo.

"Your brother."

Those two words were self-explanatory.

"He had no right," she practically snarled. Franklin had been in her father's employ for longer than Elle had been alive.

Hendricks looked at her then. "You weren't here to stop him, Miss Bella," he reminded her. "And these last couple of months, it had been necessary to give Aiden power of attorney."

"No one told me that," she gasped.

"You weren't here to tell," Hendricks murmured.

"That's not fair," Hugh complained. "Someone should have called and told her."

"Mr. Hamilton gave specific instructions that she not be informed," Hendricks snapped. "Something bullshit about not wanting to infringe on her independence. Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Bella. I have had a difficult day."

"Where are you going," Hugh asked when Hendricks headed back to the front door.

"I need a drink," he growled.

Elle nodded, dazed. "Where's Lazlo," she asked of him before he left.

"He's with your father," Hendricks said without turning. She watched in dismay as the front door shut behind him.

"Don't let him bother you, Bella," Edward told her. "He or Lazlo could have called either of us. We would have told you."

Tears glistened in her eyes, but didn't fall. She understood what Hendricks had been telling her, and she had to agree with him.

"This is all my fault," she whispered.

Hugh frowned at her. "No, it isn't! You had a right to live your life. Mr. Hamilton understood that and abided by it. He made the decision to keep the worst of what was going on a secret from you so you wouldn't feel obligated to come home."

"He tried to get me to come home," she told him. "And you know as well as I, if I had been here, he wouldn't have been able to keep his secrets," Elle insisted. "Had I been here, he might not even have gotten sick!"

"Now you aren't being fair to yourself," Edward objected. "You couldn't have prevented what happened. What were you supposed to do? Give up your youth and your freedom to babysit an old man?"

"He was my _father_," Elle yelled. She stopped and sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. Moving up the stairs, she said in a softer tone, "Poppa didn't get ill until after I left home.

"That was just bad timing," Hugh started to follow her.

"You two are dismissed. Go home," Elle told them. "Go back to the city."

Hugh shook his head. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"That's exactly what I want right now," Elle insisted. "To be alone."

Hugh passed her on the stairs. "Not until after I speak to Lazlo."

Elle paused and watched him go up; one hand on the rail. She felt out of breath and dizzy. Edward stopped beside her, keeping one hand on her elbow for support.

"Are you all right?"

"I feel sick," she admitted reluctantly.

"With all that's happened, I'm not surprised. Hugh is checking to see if Aiden is in residence," he said, quietly. "We won't leave you if Aiden is here."

Aiden.

Elle was torn with both wanting her brother to be in residence and hoping the man had crawled back under his rock in the city.

Power of attorney . . . How could _he_? What was Poppa_ thinking_? This would give Aiden a certain power over her life as well until the will was read. Her hands were effectively tied for the time being.

Fine. She had waited this long; she could wait a little longer until the will was read. Her lawyers had assured her that the Hamilton Industries noose her father had placed around her neck wouldn't slip free without Cedric's going so far as to draw up an entirely new will. Elle already knew he wouldn't do that. Her taking over for him had been his dream for her entire life.

But Elle wasn't about to give up her life to it. She would own the company and do the quarterly meetings and make decisions that only she could make, but Elle could and would hire someone capable and trustworthy to run it for her in the interim.

Hugh and Lazlo stood in the hall outside the master's suite talking as she and Edward came up.

"Lazlo? How are you holding up," she asked, gently.

He and Hendricks had been with her father for years. Elle couldn't remember a time when Hendricks hadn't been a fixture in their home, and Lazlo had come to them just a couple of years after Hugh had been hired for her. She knew the men were more than employees; that they had both become trusted friends to her father over the years, and that they were both grieving the loss as much as she.

"I'm doing alright, Miss Bella," Lazlo told her tiredly. He sounded like he had aged a decade overnight. "I should be asking you the same."

"I'm . . ." she hesitated, staring beyond his shoulder at the door to her father's room. "I'll be alright," she said; settling for some vague future reference because she was definitely _not_ alright at the moment.

"Lazlo said that Aiden left two hours ago," Hugh told her. "Presumably for Chicago."

"You saw him leave," Edward asked.

Lazlo shrugged. "I didn't walk him to the door, if that's what you mean. He said he had some business to take care of. That usually means Chicago."

"Perhaps we should stick around," Hugh looked at Elle. "Just in case."

Elle was exhausted. "This is ridiculous! Just go home, all of you. I want to sit with Poppa for a while."

"How long before someone comes to get him," Edward asked.

Lazlo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Not until morning. We wanted to give you guys a chance to locate Miss Bella and give her time to say her goodbyes. Eight o'clock."

Hugh gave Elle a little hug. "Okay, missy. We'll be back around seven thirty."

"Thank you," she whispered and reached for the door.

"You might want to change first, Miss," Lazlo told her. "We had to lower the thermostat to the room. It'll be cold in there."

I'll get something out of Poppa's closet," she assured them.

"Get some sleep, if you can," Edward said as the three men moved back up the hall.

"I'll try," Elle promised.

Sleep was something that she would never have thought she would be able to do under the circumstances, but she had fallen asleep on the short flight over here, and even managed a little cat nap in the car. Being a night owl and used to staying up until two or three in the morning she thought she would be wide awake, but despite everything, her eyes were drooping.

As the men disappeared down the stairs, Elle turned and braced herself. Turning the knob, she walked in.

* * *

_He looks so thin_, she thought as she pulled up a chair next to the bed where her father's body lay. _When had he gotten so thin_?

Even two weeks ago, when Cedric had shown up at the club for Dick's proposal, he hadn't looked this bad. But he hadn't looked good. That was why she and Dick had planned to come up to see him.

Hesitantly, Elle laid her hand atop of his where it lay on the blanket. Her breath caught in her throat. It was so cold and hard, like there was no flesh beneath the skin!

Tears sprung to her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. He wasn't there! Whatever this was on her father's bed, it wasn't her Poppa. Her mouth trembled as the reality abruptly settled in her heart.

He was gone!

She hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye!

Suddenly Elle was replaying their last conversation over in her head. What had they said to one another? She had had no idea at the time that when she told her father goodbye that it would be for the last time . . . She had told him that she loved him, but had he really understood the depth of that love? When she remembered their relationship over the course of the last year it had been one full of anger and frustration and contention, and Elle was ashamed.

For all that Cedric Hamilton had been a bad parent, he had been a very good father. He had loved her so very much. Elle never doubted that he had only wanted her happiness; had only wished the very best for her . . . They just had very different opinions about how to accomplish that.

She hadn't been wrong when she had told Edward that Cedric hadn't gotten sick until she had begun striving for independence. And then he had begun to seriously deteriorate the moment he had suspected that she had found her bondmate. It was as if, once he was satisfied that she would not be left alone in the world, that he gave himself permission to give up; to just let go.

Elle sobbed so hard that she choked. She slid from the chair to kneel by the bed and laid her forehead on that hard, cold hand and cried. A huge part of her life was gone. She had Dick, thank God, but could anything ever truly replace a parent?

"Poppa," she cried. "_Poppa_ . . . Don't go . . . _Please_, _**please**_, come back! Don't leave me!"

How long she kneeled there, she didn't know. Elle fell asleep in that position, tears still flowing down her face.

* * *

Dick checked the clock on the dash. Still over an hour and a half to go. He tried Elle's cell phone again using the touchless control on his. When it picked up, his heart started pounding.

"Elle? Baby, are you okay?"

"It's Randi. Elle forgot her purse, Dick. Sorry," came the other singer's apologetic voice through the phone. "Where are you?"

That explained why she didn't answer.

"On my way to Chicago," he said.

"Oh, good. Someone told you what happened," she asked.

"Her father died." His voice thickened and he blinked several times to keep his vision clear.

"It was awful," Randi told him. "They interrupted her performance. I think she knew what was happening as soon as she saw those men, but I've never seen her react like that. She just stopped singing right in the middle of the song. She just kept saying 'It's too soon' over and over, until I took the mike from her. At least she didn't break down until she was away from the audience, but it was bad from what I heard."

"He'd been ill," Dick admitted. "He deteriorated faster than we realized. Elle and I planned to go up after New Year's to see him. She talked to him yesterday, but he never said a word to her that he was worse or that she should come up earlier."

"So, this was unexpected? I thought as much from her reaction," Randi murmured.

"Not completely unexpected, just a lot sooner than we thought it would happen," Dick swallowed the guilt he was feeling.

They should have traveled up for Christmas. Sure they had gone up to celebrate the holiday early . . . not that that visit had gone well, but Dick worried that Elle wouldn't forgive herself for not being there. No matter the problems that were present between father and daughter, Elle loved the man. He was all she had left besides grandparents that she only saw once a year.

With more than a hundred miles separating them, Dick could still feel her upset. That only happened in extreme circumstances. In the normal course of things, Elle had to be within a certain distance for him to 'feel' her.

He looked down at the speedometer. He was speeding, but he couldn't get there fast enough. He might have taken Wayne Enterprises' company jet, but by the time he had arranged for it and driven to Gotham Dick didn't think he would arrive any sooner than he would driving the distance. Better to have the freedom to come and go that a private vehicle provided.

Elle was to inherit eighty percent of her father's wealth, but until the will was read, everything still belonged to someone else. Dick had no doubt that Aiden Hamilton would be contesting the will. Better, he thought, to have their own personal transportation.

"How much farther do you have to go," Randi asked.

"About another hour and a half," he growled. A lot could happen in an hour and a half.

"Will you be okay driving another hour and a half?"

"Don't worry about me," he told her. "I'll get there in one piece."

"If you need anything, give me a call," Randi told him. "I don't work tomorrow night. I can be up there in three."

Dick appreciated the offer and told her so. "Thanks, Randi. From the both of us," he said. "I'll have Elle give you a call when we get back."

"'Kay. Drive safe."

"Will do," Dick said. "End call."

Dick found himself grateful for Bruce's contribution to Elle's Yugo restoration project. The new engine was incredibly powerful for its size. He pressed on the gas, determined to shave off every possible minute that still separated them.

The little black car rocketed forward twenty-five; thirty; forty; fifty miles an hour above the speed limit.

* * *

He stared at her with narrowed eyes and a hate-filled heart.

Aiden Hamilton closed the door to his father's bedroom and walked over to where she rested on the floor, propped against the mattress. She still clung to the man's cold, dead hand. Even in death, she strove to steal his father from him; just as her mother had stolen him from his own.

Bella was still dressed in a ridiculous gown that she had worn while parading herself in front of a crowd like some common street whore; selling her wares to whomever came to listen to her.

Her voice . . . He had spent his entire life listening to his father claim her voice was magic, but Aiden had always ever been immune to whatever spell she had been able to cast upon others. He wasn't sure why that was, however, he wouldn't put it past the realm of possibility that it was his absolute hatred of her that protected him from it.

Why couldn't she have died in the wreck with her tramp of a mother, he didn't know. Miraculously, seven year old Arabella had waded out of the sea; shaking, injured, but very much alive. He remembered reading the newspaper articles that had raged in the wake of the mysterious accident and the remarkable escape from death by such a young child.

He didn't know who the man had been who had pushed Esmeralda's vehicle into the Mediterranean Sea so many years ago, but he could have told him that drowning wasn't an effective method of murder from experience. He didn't think Bella remembered his own unsuccessful attempt to rid his life of the encroaching child when she was but a toddler, and he but fourteen years old.

That was when he had discovered that she was a freak of nature.

He remembered her blinking up at him from beneath the water of the pool as he held her under. She had thought it was a game at the time, but he had grown more and more astonished as he had slowly come to realize that little, three year old Bella could actually breathe under water. Then he had noticed the slender webbing that laced her fingers as they grasped his forearms.

He had been so shocked that he had simply released her. She had swam to the steps of the pool and climbed out without a care in the world as he could do naught but gape. He had determined then that Bella and her mother were some sort of demons who had put his father under a spell and been responsible for his own mother's death.

He had grown up and matured, but never had that perception faltered in the intervening years. He had only tried once more half-heartedly, a couple of years later, by shoving the girl down the stairs. She had broken her leg in that fall and gotten a terrible gash on her forehead, but she had been completely healed in but three, short weeks.

He hadn't bothered again after that, but had taken advantage of her unique healing abilities to make her life as miserable as she had made his. It had made him laugh back then to watch servants accuse her of lying when she had tried to incriminate him.

The bruises he had given her would disappear anywhere from a few hours to a couple of days depending upon their severity. By the time she could accuse him of causing her bruise an hour or two later, it already looked to be several days old.

Now, she continued to take away from him. Throughout life, she had stolen their father's love and attention. In death, she stood to take away Aiden's inheritance. Ultimately, Aiden knew that Bella was responsible for their father's demise.

He had noted when the man had decided to give in to the disease or whatever had made him waste away in front of his son's eyes. It had been within a week of Bella's defection. Cedric hadn't gotten better, despite rest and a dozen different medications. The man had continued to deteriorate until yesterday, when he had slipped from this world with naught but his daughter's name on his lips.

Why did Aiden hate her? He snorted. How the hell could he not?

Standing over her, Aiden gripped the chair beside her and threw it across the room. Bella startled awake immediately at the resounding crash!

"Time to wake up, you little bitch!"

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Cliffhangers . . . Don't you love them? **

**TWO-FER ALERT! Two chapters in one day! Next chapter is already out now! **


	77. Confessions of a Madman

**WARNINGS: Language and Violence . . .**

* * *

Elle ducked and rolled to her feet. Aiden's fist punched the mattress where her head had been just seconds ago. Her high heel caught in her skirts and ripped the fragile material. Adrenaline pumping through her system, Elle kicked off her shoes so as to be able to move more freely.

"What the hell do you think you are doing," she demanded of her wild-eyed brother.

"You want to walk out of here? Give me back my company," Aiden growled at her.

She backed up, attempting to get near the door so that she could make a run for it. "That's not going to happen, Aiden."

"You don't want it," he snarled. "You've never wanted it!"

"It doesn't matter. Poppa didn't want you to have it. I won't disrespect his memory by standing by and watch you run it into the ground," she told him.

"I guess that I'll just have to settle for you, then, won't I?" Aiden smiled.

The expression was off though. Disturbing. It wasn't the kind of smile he would ever show the public or paparazzi.

"D-Did you just threaten to bury me?" Would Aiden really bring down his father's company just to get at her?

She didn't want any misunderstandings between them, even if asking him to clarify his meaning meant that she was fanning the flames of his current dementia. Her eyes swept the room for potential weapons.

Aiden ignored her question. "You will fail."

"Then you should thank me for sparing you the public humiliation by doing it for you," Elle snarked; another step closer to the hall.

"Bella, when will you learn that you aren't smart enough to run father's company? If you were, you would have learned a long time ago that I never lose," he took a step toward her.

"I guess some lessons never take . . ."

It wouldn't matter if she screamed, but it might just be enough to set Aiden off. She had sent her guards home. With Franklin gone, she was alone in the house with her crazy brother. She probably shouldn't antagonize him, but submission was waving a red flag in front of a bull and telling him it was okay if he brutalized her.

"So why now all of a sudden? Is it just to hurt me? Just another thing that you want to take from me," Aiden asked of her.

"Hurt _you_?" Elle frowned. "What baby hurt could I have possible inflicted upon you to deserve this amount of animosity? I have never had a desire to hurt you, Aiden. I just want to get _away_ from you. Despite what you might think, I don't exist merely to plague your little world."

"And yet, here you are . . ."

"Why did you fire Franklin?" She asked him in a bid to keep him talking.

"Because you loved him and I could," he sneered at her.

"What is wrong with you," Elle cried out in frustration. "He did nothing to harm you!"

"You weren't here to stop me, little girl," Aiden laughed. _As if you could_ was silently tacked onto that. "I'm contesting the will," he told her.

_Big surprise there_, she thought snidely. "Go ahead, but you're wasting your time. My lawyers went through everything already. Poppa's will is solid. It will stay that way. Oh, and by the way, even without me, you still wouldn't get any of it."

His eyes narrowed.

"My will hands over my property to Dick in the event of my death. Poppa will finally get his wish for a merger with Wayne Enterprises."

"Then what's to stop me from beating you to death right now just for the joy of it," he asked her.

Elle blinked. He hated her that much? Their father didn't leave him destitute. They could go their separate ways and never see one another again!

"W-What?" She stammered and backed up a little more. How close was she to the door? She wanted desperately to turn around and look, but was afraid to turn her back on him. "But why? Why would you do that?"

"Because I know what you are," Aiden told her, closing the distance even as she tried to increase it.

"And what is that?" Elle's heart jumped to her throat when she stepped on her skirt and stumbled.

Her hand shot out and caught the edge of her father's secretary desk. She knew where she was in relation to the door, at least, as she jerked the material out of her way. She was prepared to run . . . But she wasn't prepared for Aiden's answer.

"A demon . . ." he hissed.

* * *

It was starting to snow again when the Yugo skidded to a halt in front of the closed gate to the Hamilton Estate. Dick remembered the code Elle had given him the last time. He punched it in and waited impatiently for the scrolled metal to slide out of his way. It took only twenty seconds for him to realize that the code had been changed from the last time they had been here, only a few weeks ago.

He buzzed the intercom and waited several minutes for someone to answer. He understood that he had arrived at four in the morning and it might take some time for someone to answer him, but after five minutes, he knew no one was going to come to let him in. It crossed his mind that Elle might have gone into the city. The family had a penthouse there, but Cedric had mentioned that he preferred staying here at the house that he had built for Elle's mother.

He had to assume that he wasn't welcome. He raised an eyebrow. Like that had ever stopped him before . . . And a locked gate stood no chance of keeping him out of someplace he wanted to go.

Dick climbed out and retrieved his escrima sticks and his lockpicks from his bag. Better to be prepared for anything. He held a hand out to the gate cautiously. No telltale hum of electricity and the hairs on his arm remained undisturbed. Reassured, he took a running start and climbed two thirds the height by placing his feet on the detailed scrollwork. He gripped the metal and flipped his body over the top of the gate and landed softly on the asphalt on the opposite side.

The long drive was lined with solar powered lights. He wouldn't be needing his flashlight. He took off at a fast jog; happy to be stretching his muscles after so long sitting cramped behind the wheel. As the house finally came into view, Dick noted the lack of lights. He hoped that meant that Elle was tucked safely up in her bed, sleeping, but the closer he got the more that the generalized feeling of grief that had been his constant companion for the last four hours began to turn into something else . . .

_Fear_.

_Anger_.

Fear, unfortunately, was winning the war of supremacy. He poured on the speed and sprinted the last four hundred yards to the front door.

* * *

"A d-demon? I'm _not_ a demon, Aiden," Elle cried out. "Where would you get that idea? I'm your _sister_! We're _family_!"

"You're no family of mine. I should kill you right now." He spoke calmly.

Too calmly. Where did his anger go? Strangely enough, Elle thought she would prefer to deal with Aiden's anger than this creepy calm.

"Y-You'd never get away with it," she told him. "The police would know it was you! Hugh and Edward would know it was you. Franklin would testify at your trial . . ."

_Shit_! Was she really trying to talk her brother out of murdering her in cold blood? _Oh God_! She knew he hated her, but not to this extent! She bumped into the wall behind her and slid along it. _There_! There was the door. Her hand fumbled along its panels, searching for the doorknob.

"I've wanted to since the day you were born . . ." Aiden took another step toward her. "I tried once or twice, you know. I held you under the water when you were just three. No one would have suspected a thing . . . You loved the water and were constantly wandering out to the pool, much to the consternation of the servants. No one would have been surprised if you were found one day floating in there; a victim to your own childhood obsession."

Her eyes widened. She didn't remember the scene he was describing to her, but somehow she didn't doubt it that it was true. He had actually . . . Her breathing became erratic, and her stomach churned uncomfortably.

"But you thought it was a game. You just blinked those big eyes at me and grinned for five minutes . . . then ten. I was about to give up before someone could catch me when I saw that webbing between your fingers." He shuddered dramatically. "You laughed at me that day."

That would have made him fourteen . . . If he had been capable of doing that to a small child, what might he be capable of doing to her now?

"Then I pushed you down the stairs when you were five," he shook his head sadly. "It would have worked, too. You were a klutzy little thing. You had already fallen down those stairs before although nearer to the bottom. I started you off at the top that day, but you managed to survive that even. Compound fracture and concussion and a sprained wrist," he grimaced. "Pure luck on your part. I doubt even you could have survived had you broken your neck."

She did remember that incident . . . Or rather people telling her about it, afterwards. The pain that she endured in the weeks that followed, though; the concussion hadn't been successful at erasing_ those_ memories.

Her stomach lurched suddenly, and saliva flooded her mouth as her head spun. The sickness was back! _Oh no, no, no, no . . . Not here! Not now_!

"It might even be worth the jail time," he was saying as if truly considering what he was contemplating. "One hundred million dollars would be more than enough to make bail. I could run. I'm not that attached to Chicago. Always wanted to visit Indonesia." He smiled that weird smile again. "No extradition from there."

Elle's right hand closed over the door knob as she shoved her nausea down as best she could. Her eyes darted to the desk and found a vase. She grabbed it and threw it at Aiden's head, even as she yanked open the door. She didn't bother to see if she had managed to hit him with it. Elle knew better than anyone she was a lousy shot. But there were potential weapons downstairs, if she could just reach them . . .

She ran.

Aiden's heavy footfalls thumped after her. His hand grabbed at her shoulder. It didn't matter that they were alone in the house with no one to hear her.

Elle screamed.

* * *

Dick dropped his lockpicks when he heard Elle scream. No more room for finesse; he kicked the door. It said something for the home's security that it took Dick three kicks before the door frame shattered and he was able burst into the house.

But there were no more screams to help him locate her. Where was she?

"Elle," he yelled, palming his escrima sticks.

He ran to the stairs. Her father's body would be laid out in his room mostly likely. That would be where she was . . . He took three at a time.

By the time Dick reached the hallway her assailant was gone, but Elle lay crumpled on the floor half the distance from the open door to what he assumed was the master suite beyond. Dick ran to her side and carefully turned her over.

She was unconscious. Her dress was torn and there were bruises on her shoulder that were clearly a large man's fingerprints. Her left cheek was cut and bleeding, and the skin around it was already darkening into an ugly black bruise.

He checked her over for other hidden injuries, but found nothing more. It hadn't been more than a few minutes between Elle's scream and Dick arriving on the scene. His kicking the door down must have scared the guy away. He really didn't want to think about what would have happened had he waited for morning to drive up.

Dick wanted desperately to track down her attacker and beat him into a bloody pulp, but he couldn't risk the guy doubling back to finish the job once Dick had been lured away. Surely, Elle would be able to identify him once she woke.

He knew who he would lay money on it being . . .

Elle groaned and opened her eyes; her hands flying up automatically to protect her head. She gasped as Dick grabbed her wrists to prevent her from hitting him and received a knee in his ribs for his efforts.

"Elle! Stop, honey, it's me! It's Dick!"

"Dick?" Elle's eyes were huge and terrified. She scrambled back from him until she hit the wall; drawing her legs up in a defensive position and wrapping her arms around them. It took her a moment before his name finally registered in her mind. "Dick?"

He approached her again, slowly.

"It's me, Elle. I'm here now. You're safe," he crooned to her.

"Dick!" Elle suddenly threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. "Oh God, oh God! Dick . . . He . . . H-He . . ."

"Sh, baby. It's okay. I've got you," he told her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"P-Poppa's dead," she cried into his neck. "I wasn't here for him . . ."

"I know, honey. I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know what else to tell her. "Elle . . . I need you to listen a minute. Who did this to you? Who hurt you? Was it your brother?"

"What?"

He pulled away long enough to touch her cheek gently with his fingers. "Was it Aiden? Did that sonofabitch do this to you? Where the hell are your bodyguards?"

"Aiden?"

Elle's hand came up to explore the hurt. She winced and frowned, hesitant in answering him. Her eyes met his and drifted away; down and to the left.

Damn it! She was going to lie to him! Why? Why did she continue to protect that piece of shit?

Her gaze finally made its way back to his. "H-He . . ."

"Elle, please. Tell me and I'll take care it," he promised her.

She shook her head. "No . . . Don't . . ."

"Goddamn it, Elle," Dick raised his voice. "Don't lie to me! Stop protecting that son of a bitch!"

"I-I'm not," she whispered. She made the tiniest of flinches, but he saw it. It made his gut twist.

"Then tell me what I need to know, Elle," he demanded, giving her a little shake. "Was it Aiden? Did your brother do this to you?"

Panic flared in her eyes, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

"What? What is it?" Had he missed something when checking her for injuries?

"I've got to . . . I'm going to . . ." Elle shoved him back and dove for a potted palm that graced the top of the stairs.

"Elle!" Dick scrambled after her, only to gape as she lost everything in her stomach to the poor plant.

He started to reach for her as she huddled there, panting, but before he could touch her, Elle lurched forward again. He grimaced; kneeling beside her. Ugh! Forcing back his own bile, he held her hair out of the way as she clung to the glazed terracotta pot.

A noise sounded downstairs and Dick surged to his feet, preparing to pursue the bastard when Elle threw up yet again. A few steps and he could see the ruined door hanging by two hinges. Whoever it had been, and his bets were still on Elle's asshole brother, was gone. He heard a car door slam and an engine turn over in the distance.

Elle was sobbing and wiping her nose and mouth on a piece of her ruined gown. She propped her elbow up on the side of the pot and held her head, miserably. He hadn't suspected a concussion when he found her, but the nausea suggested that she had one and it was severe. He couldn't safely leave her to chase after the perp, but he _could_ get her to bed and call the cops.

He crouched down beside her; scooping her up into his arms.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured to her. "Let's get you to bed. You've had a long, hard night."

She curled unhappily in his arms, covering her mouth again with her hand as she gave a little burp.

"You can't go to sleep yet until we determine the severity of your head injury, but you can rest. Don't worry about anything," he told her as he carried up the hall to her bedroom. "I'll take care of it all."

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Yeah, I know . . . Damn it! But Dick's arrival brought Aiden to what few sensibilities he had left and he fled the scene. Should Dick have pursued him? Was it wiser that he stayed close to Elle?**


	78. Not A Single Clue

**Some POV switches to be aware of . . . Elle; Dick; Dick; Edward; Hugh; Edward; and ends with Hugh. **

**WARNING: Language and Some Violence . . .**

* * *

"I've already told you, I'm _not_ going! I am fine now. And quit looming over me!"

Dick stood over Elle where she was laying propped on her bed and sent her his best batglare. "You are _not_ fine! And I'll stop looming when you stop being stubborn!"

She was unimpressed. "I'll stop being stubborn when you stop being ridiculous! Dick, I was frightened and stunned, that was all. I don't even have a bump! Going to the emergency room is a waste of time."

"How is getting medical treatment a waste of time?" He goggled at her.

"_You_ don't go to the emergency room," she pointed out. "_You_ go home."

Dick ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "If I was hurt at work, I would go to the emergency room!"

Elle crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. "And what about the _night shift_?"

Dick glanced warily at the door. The sheriff's department had arrived fifteen minutes ago and were combing the house for clues. Dick was hesitant to interfere. He wasn't here as a cop or as Nightwing, after all.

He sighed. "I go home, but if it is serious enough, I go to Alfred or Leslie. I don't just ignore it."

Elle sunk down into her covers and rolled onto her side away from him. "I don't like hospitals," she grumbled.

"Elle, you lost consciousness . . ."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "For all of two minutes! It was _nothing_!"

"**_You were vomiting in the potted palm, for Christ's sake_**!" Dick yelled at her as he paced beside the bed. He attempted to calm himself. "Elle, please, there could be something seriously wrong. You won't know unless you go."

"I'm not bleeding out. I don't have a broken bone that requires setting. I . . ."

"Have a potentially dangerous head injury that caused you to not only lose consciousness . . ."

"Oh, for God's sake . . ." She pulled the pillow over her head.

"But had you puking your guts up!"

Dick sat down on the bed, tugged the pillow away, and gently drew her into his arms. "Please, Elle . . . I-I can't lose you."

She snuggled against him. _This_ was what she needed; not strangers poking and prodding at her. She just wanted to be held and told everything would be okay.

"I'm fine now," she whispered. "You're not going to lose me."

"If I hadn't driven directly up here . . ." Dick suppressed a shudder.

Elle couldn't stand it. Dick's fear and guilt were crushing her. She had enough going on without adding his emotions into the mix. "But you did. You did, and I'll be eternally grateful for that. Thank you for coming after me."

Dick leaned his forehead against hers and swore to her a solemn pledge. "I will _always_ come after you, Elle."

"And I, you," she swore right back against his lips.

* * *

A knock on the door interrupted the kiss. They broke away as Dick bade the person to enter. A Cook's county sheriff enter the room. Dick remembered being introduced to Sheriff Maggie Lawton when she arrived.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sheriff Lawton said. "I had a few questions for you if you're feeling up to it?" She directed the question to Elle. "Are you certain you don't want me to radio in for the ambulance?"

"That would be great," Dick said, even as Elle told her, "No, that won't be necessary."

Lawton looked back and forth between the two before turning back to Elle. "Miss Hamilton, I would recommend getting some medical attention if for no other reason than to assist the prosecution."

Elle looked supremely unhappy at the woman's suggestion. "Can you not prosecute with just the photos that you took and my testimony?"

Lawton hesitated. "Well, we can, but without a doctor's report it will boil down to your word against his. When did you say the attack happened?"

"Approximately an hour ago," Dick answered for Elle.

She was frowning. "That bruise looks a little older than that. Is it from the attack or is it a previous injury."

Dick frowned in return. "It's from this attack, of course. There are witnesses who can vouch that Elle had no bruise last night."

Lawton pursed her lips. "And didn't you have bruises on your shoulder from your assailant's hand?"

"She does," Dick snapped. What was she getting at?

"Could you point them out to me, please?" Lawton asked.

Dick turned and paused. The bruises on Elle's shoulder were nothing more than mere yellow-green smudges against her flawless skin; barely visible now.

Elle sighed. "It was just a family squabble, Sheriff. Dick shouldn't have bothered you. He's very protective of me, but you can see that nothing serious occurred."

Dick's eyes jerked up to meet hers. She looked exhausted and resigned.

"Are you telling me you don't want to press charges, Miss Hamilton? You realize you may not be able to pursue this later if you go this route."

"Elle, what are you doing," Dick asked her in a hiss.

"No charges," Elle told her quietly. "I apologize for wasting your time."

Sheriff Lawton took a step closer. "You aren't wasting our time. It is obvious that something happened here tonight, but I admit that the facts and your stories don't jibe well enough to make a conviction stick, in my personal opinion. The court frowns on exaggerated testimonies and false charges . . ."

"_Nothing_ was exaggerated . . ." Dick moved to stand up, but Elle's hand on his arm was enough to stop him.

"Dick, stop," Elle said quietly. "I thank you for responding so quickly, Sheriff Lawton. You and your people are a true asset to this community. I appreciate all your efforts on our behalf."

Lawton glanced back and forth between the two. She suspected that there was a lot more to this story than what she was privy to, but unless they were willing to be up front with her, her hands were tied.

"We'll be wrapping up then," she said. "You might want to look into doing something with the front door. The weather's too cold to leave it broken like that, and it will remain a security hazard as it is despite the gated entry on your drive."

"We'll take care of it, thank you," Elle replied, so Dick wouldn't. He was too angry at the moment. "I'm sorry for the poor hospitality. I should have at least made some coffee."

Lawton smiled at Elle. "Nonsense. You just get to feeling better. If something like this happens again, you give us a call and we'll be out in no time." She turned to leave, but stopped with her hand on the door knob. "Oh, I meant to tell you that two gentlemen arrived downstairs a little while ago. They claim to work for you. They said their names were Hugh and Edward. My officers had to detain them for a bit. They are fair chomping at the bit to get in here to see you."

"Please send them up, Sheriff," Elle told her. "We know them."

"Right. Well, you take care. We'll show ourselves out," Lawton gave a little two-fingered salute as she left the room.

* * *

"What the hell was that," Dick hissed at her as soon as the door closed, furious. "How can you even consider not pursuing this?"

"Dick . . ." Elle began.

"_No_!" His hand slashed the air between them. "You admit that Aiden attacked you; that he hit you, but you want to let him off of the hook yet again! Stop protecting that bastard!"

She placed a hand on his arm. "I'm _not_ protecting him, but you heard the sheriff. My bruise already looks more than a day old and that doesn't support the information we've given her. The fingerprints Aiden left on my shoulder have nearly vanished! The court would throw it out and hold us in contempt if they didn't charge us with perjury and bearing false witness."

He paused as he consider her words; his eyes roaming her face and the bruise that had indeed looked older than it was in truth. He might not have believed it either had he not seen the bruise appearing on her face within moments of it happening.

"Trust me on this, Dick," she told him.

"And you know this how," he glared at her suspiciously.

Elle looked away. "I just . . ." she sighed, "I just do. Please, can you accept that I might know something of what I am talking about this once?"

"So, you're not protecting him?" It hurt him to think about what experiences must lay still hidden behind that admission.

"No, I'm not," she promised. "I plan to tackle Aiden another way."

His eyes narrowed. "What other way?"

She smiled tiredly and patted his hand where it lay beside her. "I'm still working out all the little details, but don't worry so much. My brother will get what's coming to him. I plan to hit him where it hurts most."

Dick snorted. "I'd be happy to hit him _for_ you."

"Honestly, I wouldn't mind doing that myself."

He knew that Aiden Hamilton towered over his sister. Had she tried to fight him tonight instead of fleeing, she might have been more gravely injured in the confrontation. There were ways to accomplish it, however. But in truth, Dick simply wanted the privilege of beating the man into oblivion himself.

"We'll work on it," he said.

At that point the door to the room burst open to admit Elle's two bodyguards. Anger flaring, Dick leapt to his feet and he rushed the closest of the two; slamming Hugh into the wall with enough force to rattle Elle's trophies on a nearby shelf and send two pictures crashing to the floor. He shoved his forearm against Hugh's throat with enough strength to cut off the man's breath.

Edward was on him in seconds. Without releasing Hugh, Dick turned and blocked Edward's attack; hitting the older man with a series of punches, and then sent him flying backwards with sidekick into his solar plexus. Edward landed on the end of Elle's bed and rolled to the floor onto his hands and knees as he gasped for air.

* * *

Edward climbed to his feet, pulling his weapon on his principle's crazy boyfriend.

Dick pulled one of his escrima stick from a holster he had had made for them, and flung it, almost without thought. The stick struck Edward's wrist just as he cleared the holster; numbing it and causing him to drop the pistol. It took more than this, however, to stop a man who had once taken a bullet for his charge.

He moved in on Dick from behind.

A pillow slammed into the back of his head with enough power to stagger him. He glanced behind him, and stared in awe at Elle. She was standing on the bed threatening to clobber him with her pillow once more.

"Don't you _ever_ pull a weapon on him again," she snarled.

"Your boyfriend attacked _**us**_," Edward reminded her.

"_I. Don't._ _Care_!" Elle hissed through clenched teeth. "You don't touch him!"

"Bella, he's _lost_ it! He's going to kill Hugh," Edward turned away from her to back up his partner. Pillows did not intimidate him.

He hadn't taken two steps before Elle slammed him again, with the lamp this time. He dropped to his knees; stunned and ears ringing. She hopped off of the bed, still wielding the lamp like a baseball bat.

* * *

"You left her here alone, you bastard," Dick was growling in Hugh's face. "If I hadn't shown up, he might have killed her!"

Hugh struggled to breathe despite the arm pressed against his windpipe. Every move he made, Grayson managed to counter it. Hugh had Special Forces training! Bella's fiancé was more than a typical cop to be able to best him. Currently, however, the man was unhinged and Hugh couldn't see how he would gain the advantage without resorting to deadly force.

He only hesitated knowing that Bella would never forgive him for that.

"I trusted you both to protect her," Dick was snarling at him.

Slowly the words began to penetrate, and Hugh began to understand Grayson's fury over what he obviously deemed their betrayal and failure. Hugh forced himself to calm down and stopped fighting back. Disengaging was apparently all it took as Grayson shoved himself away; taking a defensive stance in case the bodyguard chose to retaliate.

Part of Dick hoped he would. Being unable to catch Elle's brother in the act, Dick felt the overwhelming urge to beat someone.

"She could have died!" He told him.

The accusation hung in the air between them. Their gaze met and finally Dick could see the realization and guilt play across the bodyguard's face.

The muffled thump from behind him had both men turning in time to see Edward fall under the power of an irate woman brandishing a lamp.

"What the hell is wrong with you two," Edward was yelling as he kneeled on the floor, holding a hand to the back of his head. "I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here!"

Hugh grimaced and stepped over to help his partner to his feet.

"Look, it's okay. They have a right to be upset with us. We dropped the ball," Hugh told Edward, even as he examined the growing lump on the back of his partner's head.

"How does this come back to _us_," Edward argued as he winced when Hugh prodded the sore spot. "We had no choice when Bella dismissed us."

Hugh stepped back, shaking his head. "You're wrong. We forgot that Cedric Hamilton was our client; not Bella. Bella may be our principle, but Cedric was paying the bills. He ordered us to protect his daughter. His daughter doesn't get to dictate how we do our jobs.

But she had been doing just that for a number of years. Ever since Bella turned nineteen and began striving for her independence in truth. The guards had done their best to give her some semblance of autonomy by granting first one or two of her requests, and then more as she exerted greater control over her own life.

* * *

Edward blinked as Hugh's words sunk in. When had they stopped working for Cedric and begun working for Bella?

The only sound for a long moment was heavy breathing that accompanied extreme emotions and heavy exertion. Heavy breathing than soon became labored.

Elle swayed; dropping the lamp onto the floor with a thud and the tinkling sound of the lightbulb shattering. Dick was by her side in the next second.

"Elle, what are you doing, baby," he crooned. "Sit down."

She shrugged off Dick's arm, but did sit on the side of the bed. She waved away her guards.

"I'm tired. Too much happening all at once, that's all," Elle told them.

Edward winced as he fingered the growing lump on his head, and kneeled in front of her. "Are you still experiencing dizziness and shortness of breath?"

Dick head swiveled to stare at the guard. "What are you saying?" He spun back to look at her. "This happened before the attack? How long has this been going on, Elle?"

* * *

Hugh paled and waved to Edward. The older man moved back to make room for Dick, and joined his partner.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked softly.

Hugh turned his back on the couple. "What happened to Cedric . . . Didn't it start the same way?"

Edward narrowed his eyes. "Did what start the same way? What are you getting at?"

Hugh ran a hand through his hair. "His illness . . . Dizziness, breathlessness, fatigue . . ."

"No! No, that not it!" Edward growled. "You can't seriously be suggesting . . ."

"The doctors were never able to agree on a diagnosis. What if it's hereditary?" Hugh whispered.

"Those are symptoms to a lot of things," Edward argued. "Hell, she could be pregnant for all we know!"

Hugh looked startled and glanced over his shoulder. Bella was now allowing Grayson to coddle her when just seconds ago she had been batting his attentions away irritably.

"Huh . . . Are mood swings another one of those symptoms?"

Now it was Edward's turn to stare. "Um . . . According to my brother's wife, yes, that was one of them."

"Do you think?"

Hugh was remembering when he had first met Bella shortly after the accident that had killed her mother. He had just been starting out in the business after a four tours as an Army Ranger. He still remembered the little girl with huge, sad, brown eyes and how his heart had turned over upon meeting her.

She had been in the hospital when Cedric had introduced him to her. He remembered being astounded that this tiny child had managed to escape the vehicle and basically rescue herself against all odds. He had seen the remnants of the vehicle that she and her mother had been in and thought that the newspapers had been correct. She was a miracle . . . He had later been brought into the family's trust and the secrets of Bella's heritage were entrusted to him. But it had been that day at the hospital that he had dedicated himself to her protection; determined that no one would ever again hurt her like that.

For the most part, he had been successful, but there had been moments . . . Many of which he had suspected had been because of her brother, but with Bella unwilling to point a finger at him, they had no real proof. The boy was not foolish enough to get caught, but Hugh and Edward were well aware that he was capable of incredible cruelty.

He and Edward knew of the hatred Aiden held for Bella, and were always careful to place themselves near her every time he was around. But according to Grayson, this time they had failed and Bella almost paid the price for it.

Now, he stared at the woman that the little girl had grown into and wondered anew. It hardly seemed possible, and yet it would be the height of naivety for him to not consider the very real possibility. Hugh found he preferred this to the horrifying idea that she had inherited her father's illness.

Little Bella . . . A mother? A smile tilted the edges of his lips.

_And from the looks of things_, he thought, feeling amusement for the first time in days, _neither parties involved had a single clue_.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Well? What do you think? Could Hugh be right? **

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	79. One More For Goodbye

**This one was surprisingly difficult to write. I wrote it out in four separate parts, and then mixed and blended them together; tweaking it here and there. The song mentioned is called "A Wink and A Smile" was written by Marc Shaiman and Ramsey McClean. I believe it was written for "Sleepless in Seattle" in 1993, but I cannot swear to it. The song, being performed here in the story, is as it is performed by Harry Connick, Jr. for the movie. No, I own no part of it. But I did a huge amount of research to choose a song for Elle and Bruce to dance to, and what type of dance would be appropriate. Turns out, it is the Foxtrot. :D**

**You may or may not know what agency DEA stands for. For your edification: DEA = Drug Enforcement Agency. **

**WARNING: Some Language . . . Be aware of the POV changes throughout. I believe I made it clear enough to whom each view belonged. If for some reason it is not, feel free to PM me.**

* * *

"May I steal you away for a dance?" Bruce held his hand out to Elle and smiled.

Elle's eyes widened. So, this was that Wayne charm that Bruce was famous for. She glanced back at Dick and thought _this is where he got it_. Her fiancé had been an excellent student, but the teacher was something to behold when he poured it on.

Grinning, she allowed Bruce to draw her on to the dance floor with a dramatic flair. He pulled her in just as the music started. Surprise lit her face as she recognized the song. "A Wink and A Smile" floated out over the dance floor from the bandstand, a gentleman she didn't know singing it.

"Do you foxtrot," Bruce asked.

"Is the sky blue," she asked in reply.

Bruce was incredibly light on his feet.

"How is it you aren't spending the entire night dancing? I think that every woman in this place is jealous of me right now," Elle teased.

"I never said I couldn't dance," he answered her.

"Just that you don't very often," she concluded. "That makes this extra special, then."

"You didn't have to show up this evening," Bruce told her. "No one would have blamed you for staying in . . . But I am very glad that you decided to come."

"I know," she admitted. "I thought very seriously about it, but I thought it important to support my future father-in-law by attending his party."

Bruce frowned at little at that. "That is unnecessary. I would never expect you to make a sacrifice like this must be for you."

Elle gave him a gentle smile. "Don't frown, Bruce," she admonished him. "You do that far too much as it is. This is a wonderful party and it's New Year's Eve. The whole year is stretching out in front of us all with hope and promises. Smile and enjoy yourself."

His lips edged up in response to her order. "Have I told you how good you are for Dick?"

Now her own smile brightened. "Not outright, no."

"And not just him," Bruce admitted. "You've brought laughter and music back into the manor; to the family."

She pursed her lips at that. "You sound like Dick now. He's said he'd never heard you belly laugh before I showed up with that god awful costume for him to wear."

That startled a loud bark of laughter from him, causing several people to gape in their direction in surprise.

"Oh, don't get me started," Bruce said, laughing openly. "That monstrosity had me in tears! If I hadn't known you were clueless to our family's 'quirks', I'd have said you rented that purposely."

Elle chuckled at the memory. It hadn't been funny to her at the time. She had been embarrassed and horrified at her unintended blunder. But now that she did know the family's 'quirks', the situation was outrageously funny.

"Actually, that monstrosity is currently stashed in a box in the back of my closet," she whispered, confidentially. "Dick had damaged it trying to get it on. I was forced to buy it."

Bruce grinned. "Does Dick know?"

Now, Elle laughed. "Oh no! He'd told me he had had nightmares for weeks after that; of being on patrol wearing it and all the villains and their victims standing in a circle around him laughing uproariously."

"I can just imagine," Bruce commented as the music wound down.

They stopped and looked around them, but Dick was nowhere in sight.

"Would you like to dance again, or shall I find you something to drink while we wait for your errant fiancé to come wandering back?" Bruce offered.

Elle wasn't sure if it were the dance or the laughter, but she was feeling a bit winded. Odd that since Elle loved to dance as much as she did swimming, which was saying a lot.

"You can just take me over there," she said, pointing to the side. She would be entertained enough just watching other couples dancing while the music played.

Bruce led her to the side of the dance floor.

"I see the mayor and his wife," Bruce told her with a sigh. "I should probably introduce you."

"Okay," she agreed easily. She was used to making small talk with the rich, powerful, and famous while attending events with her father. "You don't sound all that excited by the prospect."

"I don't particularly like Dickerson," Bruce admitted. "I believe him to be corrupt, but if you are to join the family, it is an acquaintance you should likely make."

"Such is the life of the rich and famous, eh?" Elle patted his arm.

"Are you two planning on making a formal announcement this evening," Bruce asked changing the subject before they could approach Gotham City's first couple.

"I thought the engagement had made the papers already," Elle said.

"Nothing official; just rumors," he explained, nodding at a couple of photographers standing further away. "But don't feel pressured. I'm afraid it might result in a paparazzi feeding frenzy. You could wait a few weeks after your father's funeral."

Elle thought about it. Privacy to grieve would be appreciated, but the party would be a perfect time to confirm those unofficial rumors.

"Let me think about it," she told him. "I want to ask Dick his opinion first."

"Of course," Bruce assured her. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. Giving it a squeeze, he walked her up to the mayor and his wife, as promised.

* * *

"She's quite lovely," a familiar voice cut through his musings.

Dick turned and looked down. "As are you," he said with a smile. "How are you, Babs?"

"Charming as ever, aren't you, Dick," Babs said, amusement teasing her expression. "I'm fine," she told him. "Never better."

Dick glanced around. "Are you here with your father?" He hadn't seen the commissioner yet.

She raised an eyebrow. "He's around here somewhere, but I'm not here _with_ him. Despite what you might think to the contrary, I'm here with a date."

He was surprised and yet not. Unusual emotions were coursing through him now that he stood in front of the woman who had held his heart for the past nine years; ever since he was fifteen and puberty had turned his irritation with Batgirl into fascination. A rush of confusing and conflicting emotions . . . Regret for what might have been; concern for how she was fairing; and . . . a hint of the love he had held for her still remained intact in one small corner of his heart. And yes, maybe a tiny bit of jealousy that she could replace him so easily . . .

"Anyone I know," he asked.

"Probably not," she shrugged. "He's not from around here."

Dick looked at her; really looked. Babs looked good, as he had said. Still beautiful . . . Her red hair styled and clipped back with a rhinestone barrette, and pretty gown of deep green and gold, marred only by the ugly black and chrome of her wheelchair. The chair bothered him as it always did, only in the fact that represented a painful and terrible episode from Babs' life, but it never detracted from the vibrancy of its bearer.

She seemed happy enough, but he could see a tiny frown line creasing her brow. It hadn't ended pleasantly for them. In fact, it had been quite messy, although Dick supposed that was mostly his fault. He had continued to pursue her despite her determination to move on. He had made a nuisance of himself with the mistaken belief that he could woo her back through persistence and perseverance. He had forced her to be angry and the sting of her parting words the last time they had spoken still hurt to this day.

And then there had been silence.

He had avoided her for months, even refusing to use her services as Oracle. Truth be told, he sort of thought she would have refused to help him in those first few months had he tried . . . So, he hadn't bothered.

He remembered the heavy depression settling on him over that time. He had lost interest in practically everything. Nightwing had had numerous close calls for that dangerous lack of interest. He had been careless and unobservant. It had taken him twice as long to wrap of several cases because he couldn't seem to get his mind in the right place.

Until his talk with Wally, Dick had even considered cutting himself off from Bruce and the rest of the family in an effort to convince Babs of her importance to him. Even that decision though had cut him deeply. He had only just come back to the fold, so to speak. His relationship with Bruce had improved so much in the past couple of years, to the point that Nightwing was spending almost half of his time back in Gotham City again, assisting the Batman.

He had nearly given up his family in order to please this woman, and Dick couldn't help but wonder if even that would have been sufficient to repair what they had had. He had thought so at one point, but now he understood that he would have eventually resented the hell out of Barbara for forcing him into that place. It might have torn them apart again, just further down the road; bringing them back into a full circle.

He had been stuck on that path with no way off for the longest time; hurting both himself and Babs unnecessarily . . . Until he had first seen Elle.

He had a lot to answer for and even more to be grateful for.

Dick kneeled beside her chair.

"I've missed you," he told her, leaning in so that his words remained between the two of them.

"Dick," Babs frowned at him.

"No," he took her hand in his. "Listen. I need to apologize . . ."

She shook her head at him. "No, you don't . . ."

He almost laughed. They weren't in each other's company for more than ten minutes before they were arguing again.

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "I was an asshole."

Her lips quirked up into a smile at his bluntness. "Okay, yes, I agree," she said. "You were."

"We went round and round so many times trying to get things to work out, and failing miserably time and again. Always I kept thinking that this time . . . This time, we could figure it out and finally be happy."

Her smile grew sad. "And we were . . . for a little while."

"Yeah, for a while," he sighed. "But you always knew, didn't you? That we were beating a dead horse."

Babs grimaced at that expression. "I wanted it to work, too, Dick. I really did, but we were just too . . . incompatible, I guess. I loved you, so I was willing to try it again and again, but I realized a while ago that we can't live on love. That our differences and our problems would eventually kill that love completely." She reached up and cupped his cheek. "But I didn't want to lose you as a friend as well. Do you understand that now?"

He reached up and held her hand against his face; savoring the feel of it for a moment. "I do. I didn't for a long time, but I do now."

"Is it because of this new girl in your life," she asked.

"Elle is . . ." Dick paused, unable to find the words he needed to describe the woman who had stolen his heart and now owned his soul.

"Elle?" Babs tilted her head. "I thought her name was Arabella."

"It is," he agreed. "I call her Elle. Babs, she is everything I could have hoped for; everything I would have dreamed about had I but known what it was I truly wanted."

"I'm happy for you, then," Babs told him, but she winced slightly.

"What is it," he asked.

"Maybe just a touch of jealousy," she admitted. "That I couldn't have been that woman for you."

"I haven't stopped loving you, Babs, but Elle is . . ."

"Sh. You don't have to say anything," she leaned in close. "She is everything you ever dreamed of . . . Before you knew what to dream. I wish you all the luck in the world with her."

Babs kissed him. One of forgiveness, and perhaps a little bit for old times' sake . . . One more for goodbye to something bittersweet.

Dick allowed the kiss. A touch of that old thrill was still there. The attraction hadn't ended for either of them, but that had never been the problem. He noted, however, that it now lacked the vibrancy and the electricity that he had grown used to since Elle had come into his life.

* * *

Elle found herself distracted from the conversation she was having with Mayor Dickerson's wife. Bruce had wandered off with the woman's husband, which was fine with Elle because the man emanated a slimy feel. Bruce had been right about that. The wife, Charlotte, however, appeared to be quite gracious and much the opposite of her husband.

Feelings that didn't belong to her were trickling into her mind. Concern, regret . . . love?

_What_?

Frowning, she glanced around the spacious ballroom atop the WE building that Bruce used for parties and large conferences; searching through the crowd of well-dressed people for one in particular. She had lost track of Dick while dancing with Bruce, but now that she thought about it, that had been a while ago. She had been speaking with the mayor's wife for some time.

_Where is he_?

He had promised not to leave her alone for long . . . and yet, Elle glanced at the watch on her companion's arm, she had been chatting with Charlotte for a good fifteen minutes. Not long in the normal course of things, but she and Dick had only planned to stay until midnight. Fifteen minutes was a goodly chunk of time out of what was supposed to be a mere hour.

The couple beyond her moved away and Elle got a clear view of the dance floor and those people lining the other side of it.

She spotted him kneeling beside a lovely, redheaded woman in a wheelchair. He held her hand and was leaning close either to be heard over the music or to provide some modicum of privacy for whatever conversation they were having.

They were smiling . . . The woman raised a hand to caress his face.

Elle blinked at the familiarity. _They must know each other very well_, she thought. Dick's hand came up to hold hers against his cheek. Elle's eyes widened in surprise. She was fairly certain that her mouth dropped open, but was powerless to close it in her initial shock.

"That's Barbara Gordon," The Charlotte supplied, helpfully.

_Barbara Gordon . . . Barbara . . . __**Babs**_? Her heart clenched in her chest and a lump rose up in her throat; making it impossible to breathe, let alone speak.

"Hey, weren't those two an item a while back?" A disembodied voice floated to her ear. Someone other than her companion; a different person on her other side; a stranger . . .

Elle couldn't turn her head to see who the speaker was. Her attention was riveted.

"Yes, I remember the announcement in the paper. 'Heir to Wayne Empire to Marry Commissioner's Daughter'. Whatever happened to those two? Did they ever tie the knot," another voice asked.

_Did everyone know what these two were to each other_? Elle's head felt lighter than air; as if it had become detached from her body.

Barbara . . . Babs smiled warmly and leaned in . . . They were almost nose to nose as it was! Why was she leaning in further? Elle felt like she was the witness to a particularly tragic car accident. She couldn't seem to look away, and she began to wonder if maybe she was the unwitting victim crushed beneath the tangle.

"Apparently not, dear. I remember seeing in the paper a while ago that he was seeing some Chicago heiress . . ."

Black spots were dancing across her vision and the voices around her sounded muted now; as if they were coming from far away.

"Are you sure? They look pretty chummy to me."

"Miss Hamilton? . . . Miss Hamilton?" Charlotte placed a hand on Elle's arm; attempting to draw her attention back to her. "Are you all right, dear? You're looking a bit faint. Do you need to sit down?"

Then, as Elle watched, she _kissed_ him . . . _Babs kissed him_! Dick didn't move; didn't protest; didn't . . .

Her vision blurred.

"I-I can't . . . I need to . . . Um, Where is the restroom? Please?" Elle stammered, abruptly tearing her eyes away.

She would never . . . Could never . . .

But then the bond worked differently for her, didn't it? Dick could walk away if he truly desired it. He would suffer a bit, but he could leave and eventually regain his life. Elle? Not so much.

"You look a little peaked," Charlotte said to her.

"I . . . Um, haven't been sleeping well. Grief and all of that," Elle told her. "You understand, of course."

The woman was immediately sympathetic. "Oh yes! I'm so sorry, dear. I'm impressed that you bothered to show up at all, considering everything."

"You're the wife of a powerful man," Elle said. "It is much the same for the daughter of such a man. Sometimes we must hold our head up and soldier on despite what goes on in our hearts. It's what is expected of us."

"So true, Miss Hamilton. That is so true. You are wise beyond your years."

Elle wanted to correct her. She wasn't wise at all; otherwise she would know what to do right now, and right now she was clueless. Struggling with her inner turmoil, Elle reminded Charlotte a little desperately, "The ladies' room, please?"

* * *

Dick pulled away from the kiss first; growing uncomfortable.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Dick glanced up at the tall, blond man standing beside the two of them holding two glasses. The elusive date . . .

Pain. Sharp as a knife stabbed Dick in the chest. Sadness and fear rolled over him, nearly making him stumble as he leapt to his feet.

"Dick, what is it?" Babs gasped. "What's wrong?"

He glanced around at the crowds and cursed himself for a fool. Why would he think that she would be safe without someone to watch over her? Had Aiden managed to get into the party somehow? He shouldn't have left her without explaining to Bruce or Tim the need to stand guard over her until he returned. He couldn't believe that bastard had the balls to show up here, in Gotham City, and crash Bruce's party!

But even as the fear that Aiden might be confronting Elle crossed his mind; Dick questioned its authenticity. This felt different than before . . . This felt . . .

_Oh shit_!

His eyes darted around the room once more, still searching for Elle, but this time, he knew it wasn't her brother hurting her, but him!

Had she seen him talking to Babs? Had she seen that stupid kiss? How could he have forgotten that she might be watching? That conversation, without hearing what was really being said, would have appeared damning to her.

"Dick?"

He glanced down at Babs almost absentmindedly. "I think that Elle might have seen that."

"Seen what," Babs frowned at him.

"Seen that kiss," her date answered for him. "You know, if I wasn't perfectly confident in myself, it might have sent _me_ running for the door," the blond man said.

Unhelpfully, in Dick's opinion.

Babs' green eyes widened behind her glasses. She apparently hadn't considered what that kiss might have looked like to the casual observer; let alone to someone who might have had an emotional investment in one of them.

"Oh! Oh no, Dick! I'm sorry," Babs told him.

She looked like she was regretful at any rate. Dick didn't _think_ Babs would have purposely tried to sabotage his relationship. It didn't matter anyway because this was his fault. He hadn't been thinking clearly. He had only hoped to apologize to Babs and possible repair their friendship.

He was an idiot!

The ballroom was large, but if he could still feel her, it meant she hadn't left yet. Maybe he could find her. He would head for the entrance to see if he could locate her.

"Do you think she would leave?"

He hoped to hell not. Call him paranoid, but he wouldn't put it past her brother to try and confront her again. It was his paranoia that had saved her from further injury the other night.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I got this flash of pain, but it didn't feel like a physical hurt. Witnessing that kiss would explain it, however."

"You might try explaining that comment to us, then, because I have no idea what you are talking about." The blond man muttered.

Babs looked up at him and took his hand. "Oh, I guess I should introduce you. Dick, this is Agent Carter Lowell out of the DEA. He's my date for the evening. Carter, this is Dick Grayson . . ."

"Richard Grayson-Wayne, the eldest adopted son of Bruce Wayne," Carter held out his hand. "Yes, I know who you are."

Dick shook his hand distractedly. "Likewise, I'm sure. Um, look Babs, I really need to find her. She could get into trouble out on her own like this."

Babs frowned at his choice of words. "Trouble? What sort of trouble?"

"The sort that would just as soon see her hit by a bus than to speak with her," he growled.

"You're kidding me . . ." she said. Her eyes widened. "No. No, you're not."

"I've got to go. I need to find her." Dick started to move away.

"Dick, wait!" Babs called out; wheeling herself after him. "Let Carter and me help you find her. This is my fault, too."

"You've never met her before," Dick said.

"I know what she looks like," Babs told him. "I saw your picture in the paper with her, and I saw you two dancing earlier, so I know what she's wearing."

"Fine," Dick nodded. "Tell her not to leave without either Tim, Bruce, or I to escort her. I'll meet her near the champagne fountain. Call me if you find her." Dick moved off without a second glance.

* * *

It was all she could do not to run.

Elle could feel Dick's sudden awareness of her upset and confusion. She knew without looking that he was turning around searching for her. Concern, worry, a touch of fear, perhaps. She should feel comforted that he cared enough for her that she could still divert his attention, but all she felt was the urgent need to be alone.

She needed to regain a little control; find her center; bury the hurt so deeply that even she didn't feel it anymore. She darted between people, careful to keep bodies between her and the last place she had seen him.

"Elle? What's wrong? Where are you going?"

Tim's voice. She couldn't stop now. The boy would hound her for information. She turned her face away and plowed onward.

She entered the room, but there were several other women already in there; gossiping or reapplying makeup. Elle spotted an open stall. She slammed the door behind her; ignoring the protests of the women who had been ahead of her in line. Almost immediately her upset settled into her stomach, and she hunched over the toilet and vomited.

Oh God, not this again! She braced her hand against the wall and retched again.

"Hmph, apparently some women cannot hold their liquor," came a complaint from the other side.

Elle wiped her mouth and sat down on the seat, shaking. What was wrong with her? This was several days after the Chinese food incident. She barely ate all day! How could she still be sick? Resting her head in her hands, she wondered about how the least little thing seemed to result in nausea . . . and fatigue! She could barely finish a dance without becoming breathless.

She never got sick!

Then again, neither did her father . . . At least not more than a day or two in all her memories. The man had had the constitution of a bull! Until . . . Until a few months ago. And now he was dead! She frowned thinking back on the symptoms he had first exhibited.

Dizziness, fatigue . . . but not nausea. At least not right away. Even as relief flooded her that this wasn't the illness that took her father from her; Elle began to worry for the first time about what it was that had been plaguing her for the last week or so.

* * *

Carter looked at Barbara. "You want to explain all that to me?"

"I'm not sure I can, but maybe we can help him locate her," Babs told him. "He looked really worried."

"You cannot realize how strange of a date I am finding this is turning out to be," Carter complained. "Who is this woman that I'm looking for and how will I know her?"

"Have you ever heard of Arabella Hamilton?"

Carter's brow rose. "Out of Chicago? Daughter of Cedric Hamilton? Brother of Aiden Hamilton of Hamilton Industries?"

It was Barbara's turn to look surprised. "How do you know her?"

Carter pursed his lips and then shrugged. It wasn't as if the woman before him wasn't perfectly capable of hacking his system and finding out the information anyway.

"There is an ongoing investigation into the brother. So far, he's managed to avoid being implicated in some shady business, but we're ever hopeful," Carter told her quietly. "I must admit that I would welcome the opportunity to chat with the elusive Arabella Hamilton."

"Hm," Babs looked at him oddly. "This is a strange date, indeed."

Carter smiled. "I'll make it up to you at midnight," he promised with a wink.

Barbara felt a blush rising, and coughed to hide her laugh. "Deal. You head towards the refreshment table and this side of the dance floor. I'm going to head to the ladies' room first and look for her on my way there."

The look on his face made her clarify. "Being upset in a public setting like this, most women would duck into the ladies' room for a bit of privacy."

"Ah, that makes sense, then," Carter said.

"I'm surprised you didn't know that," Barbara said, turning her wheelchair in the direction of the restrooms.

"I might have, but I'll admit the DEA doesn't investigate as many women as we do men. Although I'm certain that our female agents were aware of this tidbit, this will be helpful for the male agents to remember when tracking a girlfriend or wife. Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime," Barbara called out to him; amused. "Always glad to help out the DEA."

* * *

Babs rolled into the women's restroom just as the last few ladies were exiting. Arabella Hamilton wasn't among them. For a moment, she thought she might join them in leaving. The bathroom seemed to be deserted. But there were five stalls with their doors closed.

Opening her clutch, Barbara pulled out her compact mirror and opened it. Holding it down, she rolled herself slowly by each of the empty stalls. Empty, that was, until the fourth one, next to the handicap stall. She closed the compact and rolled her chair silently to the side to wait. A set of knees were hardly enough to discern their owner's identity. Truthfully, she thought Dick's panicked reaction seemed a little excessive. It was possible the other woman just needed to use the john, and he was making a fuss over nothing.

After a minute or two of silence and the woman in the stall still refused to exit, Babs began to get concerned. What was she doing in there?

Almost as if in answer, she heard the soft sounds of weeping.

_Oh, shit_ . . . Her thoughts echoing those of Dick's. _She did see us_.

Guilt swamped her, although she didn't know why. There had been nothing in that kiss. It had been merely one of forgiveness and a goodbye to a relationship that had been doomed from the start. Of course, Arabella had no way of knowing that.

Barbara sighed aloud. The weeping stopped and the restroom was silent again. _She had thought she was alone. Now she knows that she isn't_. Babs rolled her eyes. Just sitting here was ridiculous! Arabella obviously knew someone was in here with her.

"It's okay," she said. "You can come out. It's just you and me in here."

"No. I'm fine. I-I just need a few minutes alone, please."

The words were soft; almost musical. Barbara caught herself moving to leave the bathroom in response to the request. She stopped. That wouldn't accomplish anything.

"I'm not going anywhere," Babs warned her.

The sigh was loud. The feet moved and the door opened. Arabella stood in the opening and stared down at the redhead. Strangely, the running mascara did nothing to detract from the younger woman's beauty; something that was even more noticeable close up.

"I-I'm sorry," Elle surprised Babs by saying.

"For what? You didn't do anything," The other woman corrected her. "If anything, I should probably apologize to you."

Instead of answering, Elle walked to the mirror and, taking a paper towel, began repairing the damage her tears had caused. Since when had she gotten so emotional?

How could she explain the bond or her voice? Sure, Barbara Gordon must be used to unusual concepts, but maybe not those that might have trapped the man she loved into a relationship with another woman.

Barbara rolled forward until she was next to Elle. "It wasn't what it looked like," she began.

Elle met her eyes in the mirror. "And what was that?"

"We . . . We're just friends," Barbara said a little helplessly.

Elle supposed that it sounded just as lame to her ears as it had to Elle's. "Ah, so that was just a _friendly_ kiss as opposed to . . . the unfriendly kind?"

Babs pulled off her glasses. "I'm not some random girl," she said. "Dick wouldn't . . ."

Elle was curious as to why she stopped, and why her face flushed. "I know who you are."

Babs looked at Elle, surprised once again in about as many minutes. "Dick told you about me?"

"Not exactly," Elle admitted. "Look, I didn't mean to come between you two. I didn't know about you when I met him."

Barbara waved her hand. "There is no two of us. There hasn't been for a very long time. In fact, tonight was the first time I had seen him face-to-face in ten months for so. It wasn't a pleasant ending." She winced a bit. "To be honest, it was rather messy."

Elle glanced at her startled, and hope began to plug the hole in her heart.

"We were never meant to be," Barbara told her. "It just took us a while to come to that conclusion. That kiss . . ." she sighed, "It was meant to be a kind of forgiveness for the way things ended and a . . . goodbye of sorts."

"Goodbye?"

"We tried and failed too many times. It never worked out." She shrugged. "It's better this way."

Remembering that this woman was now Oracle, and who monitored all of Nightwing's activities, Elle grew worried. Would Dick lose her as backup now?

"You'll stay friends, though, right," she asked carefully.

Babs studied her in the mirror. They had yet to look at each other directly. "That wouldn't bother you?"

Part of her thought it would, but the other part remembered Dick's grand gesture of throwing away the engagement ring he had bought for the other woman.

"No," Elle said, although her voice was a bit weak. She cleared it. "No, it wouldn't bother me," she said again.

Barbara looked at her suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

Frustrated, Elle slapped her hands onto the sink and glared. "No! I'm _not_ sure! But I _need_ him to be safe out there each night, so that means he needs _you_ to be speaking to him! I am not so selfish as to deny him much needed backup and put him in even more danger than is absolutely necessary."

Barbara's eyes widened and she glanced at the door to the restroom.

"No one is in here except for us," Elle told her. "I'm not a fool, you know. Neither am I an airhead. I know how to keep a secret. But I also need to know that you won't abandon him in a fit of pique just because you are angry or jealous or whatever it is you're feeling toward us."

"I can't believe he told you," she muttered.

"I don't think he planned to, but it wouldn't have matter in the end. I would have figured it out sooner or later," Elle finally turned away from the mirror and faced her. "But no more kissing, 'kay? Not in forgiveness or for goodbyes; not even under the mistletoe. Got it?"

Babs looked at the woman in front of her with new eyes. She wasn't the weak, weepy, drama queen that Babs had assumed she was upon entering the restroom despite her earlier tears. The woman in front of her brooked no argument. Babs wondered briefly what she would do if she refused to her perfectly reasonable terms.

She let the moment pass, however. There had been enough drama for the evening. It was getting close to midnight, and Dick was probably worrying about them both. She wondered, if he were to place a bet on which of them would come out on top, who he would pick.

Her lips quirked. Dick was loyal to a fault, she knew . . . He would pick Arabella.

And she was okay with that. That was how it was supposed to be.

But she would have words for him next time he was on patrol for letting her identity slip. It didn't matter if it were to his girlfriend; Oracle was not a name to be bandied about.

"Not for any reason," Babs asked. She couldn't resist teasing her, just a tiny bit.

Arabella Hamilton, or 'Elle' as Dick called her, narrowed her eyes in what could only be described as a threatening manner. Considering that the younger woman certainly understood that Barbara Gordon was no pushover in whatever guise she wore, wheelchair or no, she couldn't help but be impressed.

"Not for any reason, right. Got it," Babs told her. "We better get out there. The boys are probably wondering where we are."

Arabella finished reapplying her mascara. She looked at Babs in the mirror again.

"Boys?"

"My date and Dick," Babs explained as they moved back out into the ballroom. The party was reaching a crescendo. Only ten minutes until midnight.

"You came with a date?"

Babs grinned. The comment hadn't been said with disbelief, but rather with a wistful hopefulness.

"I'll introduce you once we find your frantic boyfriend."

* * *

Elle followed the other woman from the restroom. She thought about correcting her. Dick was her fiancé, not her boyfriend. Her lips quirked up into the first real smile since seeing Dick speaking to his old flame.

Her mind made up, she would locate Bruce at the first opportunity. New Year's Eve seemed suddenly like the perfect time to confirm and clarify those rumors and announce her and Dick's engagement. And she knew that she wanted to be standing next to this woman when it came.

Perhaps, despite everything, Elle could find something to celebrate tonight after all. She thought that perhaps her father would even approve. Maybe it wasn't a Siren that dwelt within her but a shark!

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**I thought that this will be a good spot to take a smallish break. I've entered a Young Justice writing contest (Yay! Young Dick Grayson!), and need to spend some time to get that story written and edited before the deadline at the end of January. This will be a (hopefully) short story and full of both fun, adventure, some serious angst and a bit of drama, and with enough whump! for everyone . . . *It should be published for you at the beginning of February already completed!***

**I will be back as soon as that story is done. I am hoping to answer all those questions and theories and worries about what the future holds for Dick and Elle. In the meantime, again, feel free to PM me and please, please, PLEASE review and fave if you are enjoying it! Don't make me wait long! I love hearing from all of you . . . **

**And I really miss hearing from all of my guest readers! Where are you? Are you still happy with the story? Let me know . . . **

**MERRY CHRISTMAS! Or Happy Hanukkah! or whatever holiday you may celebrate at this time of the year! And a very Happy New Year!**


	80. Unexpected Guests

**Today is a two-fer! Meaning that I just posted another chapter after this one! Keep reading! ;D**

**No Warnings - At least, I don't think so.**

* * *

Dick moved up behind her as she finished putting on her earrings; setting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her gaze in the mirror. It was time to leave for the funeral home. Elle's emotions were mostly numbed disbelief, overwhelming dread . . . and fear. He wished, at times like these, that their bond was more developed. The first two emotions weren't difficult to understand, but he worried a bit over the fear.

He couldn't tell what it was that she was afraid of. How could he banish it if he didn't know what was the cause?

Elle looked as beautiful as ever, but for the red-rimmed eyes and the dark circles. She wasn't sleeping, and he suspected that her grief was a major contributing factor to her constant fatigue and loss of appetite. She had refused breakfast again this morning, and had locked herself in the bathroom for an hour. Dick had been ready to pry the door off of its hinges when she finally opened up and came out.

"Are you ready?" he asked, softly.

Tears welled in her eyes and her lip trembled as she shook her head.

"Aw, baby," he turned her around and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed against his shoulder. She tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm going to make us late."

"You are the man's daughter," Dick told her. "I think they would wait for you."

She sniffled and then looked at his sodden handkerchief in dismay. "Oh, I ruined this," she told him as the tears reappeared.

Dick chuckled, sadly. "Elle, that's what it's there for. Besides, I came prepared. I have several on hand." To prove his point he stepped back and tugged another piece of folded linen from another pocket. He made a couple folds and tucked in in so that it showed perfectly.

"Did Alfred show you that?" she snuffled.

"A combination of Alfred and Bruce," he said. "Alfred showed me how to get it to look just right, but Bruce taught me to always be prepared. Hence all the extras."

"He sounds like a Boy Scout," she gave him a wavering smile.

Dick laughed. "Bruce would make the Boy Scouts seem disorganized."

"I can't quite picture Batman helping little old ladies across the street," she gave a watery chuckle.

"No," Dick was grinning at the thought. "But he might swing down to clobber anyone trying to mug one."

"Maybe he could swing her over the crosswalk with his bat-rope?" Elle supplied, smiling wider.

Dick snorted. "I suppose that one might be possible, depending on the circumstances. Speaking of Bruce, he and Tim and Damian are waiting downstairs to accompany us, unless you want to take a separate vehicle."

"They came all the way to Chicago for Poppa's funeral?" Elle probably shouldn't be surprised, but she was.

"You're family now," he reminded her.

One she was incredibly thankful for as her family dwindled. She glanced in the mirror again. Waterproof mascara really wasn't all that waterproof, was it? She dabbed at her eyes once more, but didn't bother reapplying something that would be smudging in another hour or so. She wasn't attending a red carpet event, but her father's funeral.

When Dick wrapped a protective arm around her waist, she allowed it and leaned on his strength gratefully as he led her downstairs. Bruce and the boys could be seen in the front parlor from the stairs, and got up to greet her when they saw them.

"Elle, I'm so sorry," Bruce told her taking her hand. "How are you holding up? Is there anything that we can do to make this day go smoother?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, nothing. All the arrangements have been made. You are helping just by being here. I appreciate you driving all the way up . . ."

"Nonsense," Bruce interrupted her. "Of course, we would be here. You're family now," he said, repeating Dick's earlier claim. "We take care of our own."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Bella. You have company," Franklin interrupted.

The butler had smoothly reclaimed his position when Elle finally dipped into the bank account that her father had set up for her and rehired him. Aiden couldn't fire the man this time since Franklin was now her employee. He would retain his position for as long as he desired it.

Elle checked her watch. It was almost time to leave for the funeral. Who would show up today of all days? Curious, and prepared to send them away, Elle followed Franklin back toward the foyer. She stopped in the doorway and gasped.

Dick and Bruce moved forward at her startled cry.

"Nonna? Nonno? Oh, my goodness," Elle cried. "I can't believe you're here! Quando seite arrivati?" ("_When did you arrive_?")

A handsome older couple turned around. The gentleman had snow-white hair and looked to be in his mid-sixties; the woman with him appeared much younger in age with nary a white hair and hardly a wrinkle. In fact, she looked not much older than Bruce's own age of forty-one.

"Ieri sera, dolce Bella," her grandfather told her. ("_Last night, sweet Bella_.")

"You stayed in a hotel? No! Sareste dovuti venire qui. C'è spazio in abbondanza," Elle admonished. ("_You should have come here. There was plenty of room_.")

"Bellina, stai bene? So quanto questo possa essere difficile per te. Devi cercare di non essere triste, perchè tuo papà è finalmente di nuovo insieme con la sua Cara Esmeralda." Her grandmother held out her arms. ("_Little Bella, are you alright? I know how difficult this must be for you. You must try to not be too sad, for your poppa had finally gone to be with his dear Esmeralda at last_.")

And just like that all control she had found was gone. Elle threw herself into her Nonna's arms, sobbing.

"Nonna, non ero pronta per perderlo," she cried. "E' troppo presto!" ("_I wasn't ready for him to go, Nonna! It was too soon_!")

"Tut, tut, tesoro mio," her grandmother crooned; stroking her hair. "Saremmo dovuti venire prima. Bisognava aspettarselo. Dopotutto tu hai trovato il tuo compagno di vita." ("_Tut, tut, my darling. We should have made arrangements to come sooner. It was to be expected. You had found your bondmate, after all_.")

Elle pulled back. "What? What has that to do with anything?"

"Bella, può andare avanti adesso. Non deve più preoccuparsi per te adesso," she told her. "Sapeva che il tuo promesso si sarebbe preso cura di te." ("_He could go on now, Bella. He didn't have to worry over you anymore. He knew that your bondmate would be here to take care of you_.")

Suddenly things her father had been saying to her recently made sense. In fact, a lot of things were suddenly making sense. Like all of those escorts he had pawned her off on for all these years . . . He had been searching for her bondmate! So that he could do what? _Die on her_?

Had her father really been so desperate to leave her?

The pain that struck her heart was so intense that Dick took a step forward. As if she knew he would be there, Elle stepped back and reached for him blindly.

Cedric had told her these things but it never really struck her until now that all this time her father had merely been biding his time until he could find her another keeper and he could leave her without guilt. He had promised her mother that he would watch over her and he had done his duty admirably. How long had he been shoving the sons of his business associates at her? Since she had been sixteen . . .

Good Lord! What if she had met her bondmate in high school? Would he have allowed himself to die even then? She would have been too young to have married. She would have been left at Aiden's mercy. Elle had already had a taste of Aiden's mercy and it had tasted a lot like blood.

" Bella? Che cosa c'è, tesoro? Cosa c'è che non va?" her grandmother asked. ("_Bella? What is it, my dear? What is wrong_?")

Now was not the time to break down. The funeral was in less than an hour. Elle shored herself up and swallowed her tears.

"Nonna, mi manca papà. Tutto qui," Elle said, with only the faintest quiver. ("_Just missing Poppa, Nonna. That's all_.") "I must introduce you," she said abruptly.

"Dick," she drew him forward. "These are my grandparents; Luca and Noemi Constanzo. They flew in all the way from Italy. Nonno, Nonna, this is Richard Grayson-Wayne; my fiancée."

Luca Constanzo stepped forward and shook Dick's hand.

"Welcome to the family, young man," Luca smiled at him.

"A pleasure, sir," Dick murmured respectfully.

Noemi, however, pulled the startled young man into a strapping hug and kissed both of his cheeks.

"Ricardo, how wonderful it is to finally meet you," Noemi told him. "And I see you will finally marry our little Bella and make an honest woman of her, yes?"

Dick returned her grandmother's greeting. He noted the blush staining Elle's face. If Cedric spoke bluntly, he had the feeling that Elle grandmother would be like taking a bucket full of ice water to the face.

"Yes, ma'am. That I will," he assured her with a smile.

She patted his face with stinging vigor. "Buono. That is very good news, indeed." She turned around and began chiding Elle strongly in Italian; not aware that Dick and Bruce both spoke the language fluently.

"E' un bene che tuo nonno ed io siamo venuti. Qualcuno deve essere presente per sorvegliarvi. Che cosa penseranno i vicini, tu sola con un uomo? E' sconveniente per una signorina!" ("_It is a good thing that your grandfather and I came. Someone needs to be here to chaperone the two of you. What would the neighbors think, you staying here alone with a man? It is unbecoming of a lady to act in such a manner_!")

"Nonna, è il mio fidanzato," Elle attempted to cut in. "Siamo bondmates. Nessuno può pensare male! Non è come dici tu!" ("_Nonna, he is my fiancé now. We are bondmates. No one thinks of us like that! It is not like you are saying at all_!")

"Psh!" Nonna waved her words away. "Per la gente comune non vale niente se non c'è una cerimonia e un certificato di matrimonio! Non vivi nel mare con i pesci dove la morale e la decenza comune non esistono! Stai portando disonore a questa famiglia." ("_To the landed, it is nothing without the ceremony and the certificate! You are not living in the sea with the fishes where morals and common decency do not exist! You are behaving in a manner that brings shame to your family_.")

Dick wanted to treat Elle's family with the utmost respect but he couldn't stand by and let her grandmother vilify her reputation unjustly, particularly not today when she was expected to say her final goodbyes to her father amongst both well-meaning family friends and a host of media and other strangers.

"Le chiedo di perdonarmi, Mrs. Constanzo," Dick interrupted, tucking Elle into his side and gently placing himself in between her and her grandmother. "Non si permetta di parlare a Elle in questo modo. Non ha fatto nulla di vergognoso per se stessa o la vostra famiglia. Inoltre, oggi deve seppellire suo padre, quello di cui ha bisogno è il sostegno e l'affetto della sua famiglia. Non certo disprezzo e disappunto. Se avete qualcosa da dire riguardo alla nostra relazione dovrete dirlo ad entrambi. Ma non oggi! Apprezzerei molto se potesse evitare le critiche. Almeno fino a un momento più opportuno." ("_I beg your pardon, Mrs. Constanzo. You will not speak to Elle in that fashion. She has done nothing to shame herself or her family. What's more is that today she goes to bury her father and is in need of your support, not your judgment and disapproval. If you have something to say about our relationship, you will say it to the both of us. But not today! I would greatly appreciate it if you kept your criticisms to yourself until a more appropriate time_.")

Noemi stared at Dick for a long moment. "You speak the language quite well," she said finally.

Dick held her gaze. "That I do, Mrs. Constanzo."

She turned to her husband and spoke to him, this time in French. "Il est fort, Luca . Comme Cédric, je pense. Nous devons faire attention à ce que nous disons en face de lui jusqu'à ce que nous pouvons apprendre à le connaître mieux, non?" ("_He is a strong one, Luca. Like Cedric, I think. We must be careful what we say in front of him until we can get to know him a little better, eh_?")

"Comme vous le dites, mon amou ," Luca assured her. "Mais je pense qu'il est correct. Vous êtes un peu dur sur Bella. Les choses sont différentes dans cette génération." ("_As you say, my love. But I think he is correct. You are being a little hard on Bella. Things are different in this generation_.")

"Je parle plusieurs langues très bien, Mme Constanzo," Dick said to her in French. ("_I speak several languages quite well, Mrs. Constanzo_,")

Startled, Noemi looked back at him and narrowed her eyes in thought. Then she smiled and laughed; taking Elle by the hand. "You pick a good one, yes?"

Elle smiled back, if a little sadly. "Yes, Nonna. He is the very best. Now, allow me to introduce you to the rest of his family."

* * *

Dick finally settled down beside her, wrapping his arm around her middle and nuzzling his face into her hair. He kissed her shoulder and slowly the sound of his breathing changed, deepening, heralding that sleep had arrived. Elle's eyes opened. She was still too wound up to sleep but she knew that Dick wouldn't until she did.

He had been hovering all day. She had had to pretend to sleep before he relaxed enough to allow himself to drift off. Her eyes drifted over the treasures of her childhood. All of the good memories, some of the bad, all of them had found a niche inside this room. She remembered when her father had given her that teddy bear the year she first went away to boarding school.

He had worried about her being all along but in truth it had been a relief. Even in what should have been a father/daughter moment, Aiden had marred it. She had had to give up her father in order to find a little safety. Even in her last moments with Cedric Hamilton, Aiden had been there, his hatred suffocating her. They hadn't had to act, however, for the people around them this time. Perhaps neither of them had had the strength for it today. Brother and sister had simply kept a buffer between them at all times; people, an aisle, a casket . . .

If anyone wondered why they didn't hug or turn to one another in their grief, nothing was said. And Elle had been surrounded by her fiancé and his family as well as her maternal grandparents. Tomorrow's newspaper would likely tell them soon enough if someone had thought it odd. Frankly, though, Elle couldn't bring herself to care one way or the other.

The time was at hand to go toe-to-toe with her brother. Tomorrow was the reading of the will. Tomorrow she would gain the power to shrug off the hateful man's presence and order him out of the house forever.

Her hand slid over Dick's forearm where it held her, her fingers tracing his amazing musculature. Dick was so strong, her rock in her time of need. He hadn't seemed to mind that she had been a basket case all day. Even more amazing was the fact that Bruce and the boys had traveled up to attend the funeral with them. They hadn't stayed although she had offered them rooms but she understood their need to head back to Gotham tonight. Tim had promised Dick he would patrol Bludhaven in his stead so that he wouldn't feel conflicted in any way.

Dick had told her that there wasn't a conflict. He was where he needed to be but he was still grateful for his brother stepping in for him all the same.

When she thought that Dick was sleeping deeply enough, she lifted his arm and slid out of the bed. She didn't need a light to find her robe and to make her way into the hall. Her feet knew the way to go. They had been marking the path all of her life.

When she opened the door, a wave of humidity washed over her and Elle breathed a little easier. She dropped the robe and her nightgown and in four steps she dove into the pool and allowed the silence of the water to engulf her. At times, this felt more like home than did the house above her. Now she knew why . . .

She still had questions but they could wait until another day. Right now all she wanted to do was swim. She skimmed the bottom and didn't bother rising to the surface, now that she knew she didn't have to. Lap after lap, Elle allowed the water to soothe her.

She lost track of time. It wasn't until the first ray of dawn streaked through the windows and hit the water that she realized that she had swam through the entire night. She moved to the shallow end. She wanted to be back in bed before Dick woke up and found her gone. He would know she had left by virtue of her hair being wet but Elle didn't want him to know she had been down here all night long. He would worry.

Climbing out of the water she turned to the cupboards that held towels only to find Dick standing there holding one out to her.

"Oh," she said, startled. "I just came down for a little swim." She took the towel from him. "How long have you been here?"

He looked at his watch. "About six hours now."

Elle's mouth dropped open. He must have woken up shortly after she had left the room.

"I didn't realize you were here," she stammered, flushing pink.

"That's only because you never bothered to surface," he remarked casually. "When I told you I don't sleep well without you now, I wasn't exaggerating."

Guilt swamped her. "I'm sorry. You must be exhausted!" She tucked the ends of the towel around her.

He produced another towel and started drying her hair for her. "Not so much," he tilted his head in the direction of the lounge chairs. "I caught a few Z's here."

Her eyebrows rose. "You slept in the lounge chair?"

"It wasn't so bad. The sound of the water was soothing," he reassured her, "and the cushions were rather comfortable."

She quirked a smile at him. "Why didn't you just go back upstairs?"

Dick kissed her forehead. "Because you were down here. Really, it was fine. I could see that you needed to swim so I watched you for a while. It's better than counting sheep," he teased, "watching you do laps along the bottom of the pool."

"Put you right to sleep, did it?"

This time Dick blushed. "Not immediately, no. You _were_ naked, after all."

Elle laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't join me."

"I was tempted," he admitted ruefully, "but I thought you preferred a little alone time."

She snorted. "Alone time . . . With you in the same room?"

"Sorry, but after the last time you were here, this was as alone as you were going to get," Dick told her.

Elle pursed her lips but didn't say anything. He had been as upset as she the night her father had passed away and Aiden had attacked her. Despite Dick being in the poolroom with her, he had still given her a modicum of privacy. She had _thought_ she had been alone and that was enough for her. The truth was that his presence wouldn't have bothered her except for the guilt that she might have been keeping him up. As he just admitted to sleeping in the lounge, that wasn't an issue so in the end, everything worked out fine.

They turned to walk out. Elle paused to pick up her nightgown and robe, although she didn't bother to put them on, the towel covered all her pertinent parts easily enough. Dick, however, stared at the windows that separated the pool from the hallway.

"You don't worry about swimming naked while being surrounded by all this glass? Anyone could have seen you in here," he asked her.

"No. It's just you and me here," she said.

"And Edward and Hugh," he muttered, "and your grandparents."

Elle smiled at him. "Edward and Hugh wouldn't interrupt me here unless they had reason to believe I was in danger."

They had apparently known when she went skinny dipping at night while growing up but hadn't bothered to follow her because, unlike Elle, they knew more about her heritage than she did herself. She couldn't drown . . .

And all this time she had thought she was being sneaky . . . But, as her bodyguards explained, she was a bit too clumsy on land to make a good sneak.

"And your grandparents?"

"They sleep at night," she replied.

"Jet lag?" he retorted.

Elle laughed. "Their European," she reminded him. "They don't have as many hang ups about nudity as Americans do."

"Elle!" Dick gaped at her. "The woman lambasted you just yesterday for living with me out of wedlock! I doubt she would see you parading around in nothing but your skin as a mere hang up."

"Take it easy, sweetheart," she patted his cheek. "They would have either turned around or announced themselves. Nonna would have tossed me my robe until I could grab something suitable from the changing room."

He snorted. "The changing room . . . I wonder if you even know where it is," he teased. At her look, he clarified. "I've never seen you actually use it. You usually just strip in the hall or in here and dive in bare-assed."

Elle smirked and pointed at the doors a few feet away. "They're right over there," she informed him.

"And what if Bruce and the boys had decided to stay the night?" Dick held open the _glass_ door that led to the hall for her.

She stopped and looked at him. "Would they have wandered the house at night, do you think?"

"Without cause? No," he shook his head. "At least, not farther than the kitchen."

She started walking again. "Well then, there likely wouldn't have been an issue. I don't always traverse the kitchen in the buff."

"You don't _always_?" Dick glanced down at her and saw her smile.

Elle trotted up the steps that led to the house proper. Swimming always energized her despite the sleepless night.

"What exactly does that _mean_?" Dick called after her as he followed. "That you _do_ sometimes?"

Elle ignored him.

Dick took two steps at a time to catch up to her. "Or did you mean you don't go naked in the kitchen as opposed to running around naked elsewhere?"

She laughed but didn't bother answering him.

"_Elle_?"

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**Elle's grandmother (Nonna in Italian) is something else. Dick surprised her, however, and she has a grown some respect for him, I think.**

**I had help on the Italian translations but the French . . . Well, I did the best I could. (I can count in German, and can swear in Spanish - Neither of which could help me here.) Any mistakes are mine alone. There won't be any more French (I don't _think_ so, anyway, but you never know.) but if any French readers would care to correct my translations into their language, please feel free to PM me!**

**Oh, and I know my bad guy had a French mother but be aware that I love France as much as I do Italy . . . (Although, Italian drivers are a little scary - No offense!). I've visited both countries and they are very beautiful and, I must say, that the people were nothing but polite and very kind to me and my family - despite my being a "rude" American. LOL! Actually, although I cannot speak either language, I kept my easy translation books open to the pages that had "please", 'thank you", "excuse me", and "I'm sorry". I find that those are the most important words to have ready in any language while visiting a foreign county. Most other fumblings and mistakes can be forgiven or overlooked if you know the polite words.**


	81. Where There's a Will, There's a Way

**Today is a two-fer! Chapters 80 &amp; 81 have been posted! Don't miss the previous one!**

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

"Pacing will not make the time go faster," Noemi informed Dick as she and her husband, Luca, watched him complete another lap around the conference room.

Dick shot her a look, but didn't take a seat. He couldn't. Elle was in that room with only a crusty, old lawyer acting as a buffer between her and her brother. He hadn't missed the hatred in Aiden's eyes as he had brushed passed them in the hall.

The will reading itself got a late start, but that was entirely Dick's fault because of his insistence that he accompany Elle into the room. The lawyer had insisted that only Cedric's two primary heirs be present for the initial reading. It was irregular and Dick didn't trust it. He already knew that Cedric had changed his will in the last few weeks to leave the vast majority of his wealth and holdings to his daughter, and he already knew what Aiden's reaction was to that.

He kind of wished now that he had asked Bruce to stay. Hell, even Tim would have been a comfort. Bruce's business acumen and Tim penchant for exhausting a subject would have both been helpful in this circumstance. Bruce knew his way around a contract and basically that was exactly what a will was; a contract made by the deceased for the benefit of his descendants. If he had given Tim a head's up, Dick knew the eighteen year old would have arrived this morning already an expert in hereditary law.

He stopped by the floor to ceiling glass that took up one wall of the conference room provided for him and the Constanzos to wait. There was a tray of beverages and healthy snacks for them, but Dick's stomach churned too much to partake of anything but an occasional sip of water. How much of his upset was his and how much was Elle's? If she were too upset, Dick knew he would barge into the lawyer's office without a qualm, Cedric's wishes be damned.

Elle's grandparents sipped at their cappuccinos that one of the assistants had made for them and chatted quietly in Italian. They watched him wearing a track in the carpet with unconcealed amusement.

He frowned. Hadn't they met Aiden before? Didn't they know of the man's hatred for his younger half-sister? He thought that perhaps Aiden hadn't accompanied Cedric and Elle to Italy very often for her grandparents to not be in the know. Whatever had happened, the elder couple didn't seem to realize the danger the man posed. Noemi seemed as sharp as a tack. He couldn't believe she would be as obtuse as Cedric had acted if she were around the siblings for any length of time.

He checked his watch again in his agitation. Five whole minutes from the last time he had checked it. Dick sighed. He could see Lake Michigan from here. The view was spectacular. Any other time he might have enjoyed it. Instead, his gaze turned inward as he wondered what was happening in the other room.

* * *

"Do you have any questions?" Mr. Avery Sheldon leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he observed Cedric Hamilton's two grown children.

He had known Cedric for years; had been his lawyer almost from the beginning of his career. He had met the man's children on numerous occasions, but seldom ever at the same time. Usually those times had been during company events that Cedric had invited him to and they were there and then weren't as each were drawn away because of social obligation.

He knew Aiden a little better than Arabella. The man was strong-willed and quite intelligent, but Sheldon had seen glimpses of a hot temper underneath that icy exterior. The younger man made him uncomfortable, and without Cedric steadying presence and rock-hard personality, Sheldon knew he would have made up some excuse to have dropped Hamilton's company as a client.

When Cedric brought him to his Lake Michigan home to revise his will, Sheldon had practically applauded his decision to leave the bulk of his wealth and assets to his daughter. Arabella, while a sweet girl, was not exactly a pushover, he had discovered some time ago.

He had been present on more than one of those rare occasions when Cedric had talked her into attending a difficult or hostile negotiation. Sheldon would have given up hoping for a peaceful resolution when this previously quiet girl, seemingly too young to be in on such an important brokered deal, would politely begin interjecting facts and statistics that no one had thought to bring to attention before. Suddenly, in a remarkably short time, an agreement would be struck that benefitted everyone . . . But probably none so much as Hamilton Industries itself. The men, who had only an hour earlier would have been but inches away from leaping across the table and strangling one another, would be shaking hands, laughing amicably, and congratulating one another.

It had been the damndest thing he had ever seen.

Arabella would congratulate the men she had just negotiated under the table, as if they hadn't just bartered away their assets to her, and then quietly slipped away in the aftermath as if she had never been there at all. But Sheldon had noticed and remembered. And he understood perfectly why Cedric had been so intent on convincing her to join the company on a full time basis.

Aiden, however, would have investigated the other company, its CEO, and board of directors; and then would have either threatened or blackmailed them into agreeing to his terms. Aiden has an intense and overpowering personality. He was blunt and gruff and often left enemies in his considerable wake. Cedric had often had to scramble to smooth the troubles brought about by his son's aggressiveness. Had Aiden Hamilton been left in control of the company, Sheldon was sure that it would only a matter of time before the man would have run his father's legacy into the ground.

Giving over controlling interest to Arabella was one of the smartest moves Cedric had ever made. His careful maneuvering to ensure she could step into the role he carved for her would provide the company with solid footing for the future. The board of directors and a vote of the stockholders had been very nearly unanimous in approving Cedric's decision. The will had been drawn up as well as the contracts and other documents that promised a smooth transition of power from one sibling to the other.

At least, legally speaking. How smoothly things went personally between the two heirs remained to be seen. But that question was seconds away from being answered right here in his office, and Sheldon was feeling far more apprehensive about it than he had an hour ago.

The look in Aiden Hamilton's eyes over the course of the past hour had gone from irritable to irate; angry to furious. Sheldon noted the vein pulsing at his temple. He glanced over at the man's sister. Arabella was calm but pale. He worried a bit for her, but she took a breath and seemed to reach deep to draw forth the steel that made up her core.

She stood; reaching across the desk to shake his hand. Sheldon scrambled to his feet; admiring the quiet strength she had in her. If he could just get the two of them out of his office without them coming to blows, he thought Arabella would be just fine. But he suddenly understood the apprehension of her fiancé to allow her to step into the office with her brother without him being present.

"Thank you, Mr. Sheldon. I would like to retain your company's services in regard to Hamilton Industries, and you in particular if you are agreeable, that is." Arabella smiled at him.

Sheldon smiled back. "I would be honored."

"Good," she nodded. "I have my own lawyers that handle my personal affairs, and I would like to continue using them as well and perhaps expand their services in light of my inheritance. I will arrange a meeting between us all sometime next week to go over those details and determine exactly what part each of you will play. Is that alright with you?"

"I will let my secretary know," Sheldon said. "We should be able to arrange something amenable to all of us."

He turned to face Aiden.

His heartrate increased as the son rose to his feet. Aiden exuded menacing power. He was not at all pleased with what he had received. Sheldon knew that there would be a fight on the horizon, but Cedric had expected as much and had prepared. There was nothing Aiden Hamilton could do. Even without Cedric's passing, this outcome would have been inevitable. While the split of Cedric's estate wasn't close to being equal; what Aiden had received was still quite generous. The son had not been left destitute in the slightest. In fact, he was still one of the wealthiest men in Chicago and easily in the top five percent in the country; ten percent in the world.

Not that the man appeared to be grateful for that fact, however.

Despite that, Aiden leaned across the desk to shake Sheldon's hand. The younger man's eyes were at half mast, but that did nothing to hide his anger. Regardless, Aiden's grip was firm; the shake was sharp and abrupt, but thankfully there was no true violence to be found in it despite that look in his eyes.

"Sheldon," Aiden said. "Would you mind terribly if I had a private word with my sister?"

Sheldon gaze darted over to Arabella. She made no move to refuse and appeared to be resigned; as if she had been expecting this request.

"Ah," he stammered, searching for a way to refuse on her behalf without causing the man to combust. "I realize that this reading came right on the heels of your father's funeral, and that emotions might be somewhat tumultuous at this stage . . ."

"Sheldon," Aiden said softly.

"I, ah . . . " He cleared his throat nervously. "Only if Miss Arabella feels comfortable with that."

Arabella pursed her lips and nodded her acquiescence; her gaze lowered. Sheldon would have felt better if she would have met his eyes while assenting to this potentially volatile meeting.

"We'll be out shortly," Aiden told the man as Sheldon yanked out his handkerchief and mopped his suddenly damp brow.

The lawyer stopped at the door to his office and turned around. "I'll be right outside the door if either of you need anything," he said. "Anything at all."

Once the door had been shut in his face, he turned to his secretary. "You might want to send for Miss Hamilton's fiancé. Mr. Grayson-Wayne can be found in conference room C."

His secretary took one look at Mr. Sheldon's face and left at a trot; going to summon the gentleman in question personally.

* * *

Aiden took ahold of the doorknob and waited patiently for the elder man to step out before closing the door softly behind him. He turned to face the woman responsible for the stripping of his inheritance right out of his hand.

"_Sister_," he acknowledged her for the first time since entering the office. He raised an eyebrow.

Bella had turned to face him; leaning back against Sheldon's desk in what might at first glance appeare to be a relaxed manner. Aiden knew better, however. She was scared.

"Aiden," she said as she finally lifted her head and met his gaze from across the dozen or so feet that separated them. "You heard the man. The will is ironclad. There is nothing either of us can do about it."

"I heard," he said.

Her hands flew up in frustration. "Then what do you want?"

His hands fisted. She saw the movement and swallowed hard, but amazingly Bella didn't flinch. He smiled, but it was not one of his pleasant ones he gave out to others. It was the smile he saved only for his . . . _sister_.

"Do you truly wish for me to answer that for you?"

She sighed. "There is nothing more to say, Aiden. My lawyers are drawing up papers that will give you complete and utter ownership of Hamilton Trading. You will be entirely free from the umbrella of Hamilton Industries with no ties to us whatsoever. You will be able to do whatever you want with it without mine or the board of directors' approval."

"I don't think your position gives you that kind of power," Aiden remarked.

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "But it will if I can obtain the approval of the board of directors and a majority vote from the stockholders."

"They will not give it to you," he told her confidently.

Bella smiled. It wasn't a happy smile or a fake one, but one of triumph. He frowned.

"They already have. The papers are, even now, in the process of being drawn up," Bella told him.

His frown intensified. "_How_," he demanded, taking a step forward.

To her credit, she didn't move. "I contacted them last Thursday for an emergency vote to take place this past Sunday. It was unanimous. The members all seemed to understand that there might be . . . a bit of resentment between us following the changes that Poppa made that could possibly lead to some small show of . . . hostility. They agreed with me that a clean split would ultimately be in the company's best interest."

Aiden gaped at her. He hadn't thought she had it in her.

"As of twelve o'clock tomorrow, Hamilton Trading will be all yours to do with as you will. Hamilton Industries will not be responsible legally nor financially for your company beyond any deals made before that point. Like Poppa said, you can sell it, build it up, or burn it down. I don't care, and what's more, Hamilton Industries won't care either."

"How did you manage this in just one weekend?"

Bella tilted her head as she matched him glare for glare. "Truthfully? I didn't."

He blinked.

She didn't. "This has been something that has been in the works since the weekend Poppa told us about the will."

"You couldn't do that," he growled. "I was still CEO at that time!"

"You were '_acting_' CEO at that time. Poppa had apparently already arranged for me to take over as soon as I was prepared to do so. I discovered that I did not even have to wait for him to die before exerting a little influence and preparing for your future departure. I would have been stepping into your position by February had Poppa not died and advanced the timeline. I merely put a rush on it, so that all would be ready by tomorrow," Bella stood up and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her dress. "All the T's have been crossed and all the I's have been dotted."

"You're lying," he snarled through clenched teeth.

"It's a good deal, Aiden," Bella told him. "You should be pleased."

"You little _bitch_!"

Surprisingly, Bella smiled. It was full of her annoyingly usual good humor.

"When it comes to being a bitch, Aiden," she said calmly, "you will find that there is nothing '_little_' about me." She picked up her handbag. "In fact, you can take full credit for that yourself. You taught me everything I needed to know, after all.

"Oh, and by the way," Bella added. "I've had everything that Poppa wanted you to have packed up and put into storage. Franklin was a dear and helped me with that. The key is at the front desk under your name. The code to the gate at the house has been changed and new locks on all the doors, so you can keep your key."

She opened her bag and pulled out a keyring with two keys on them and a business card. "These are Poppa's and my keys to the penthouse. You can keep, sell, or burn anything I have left there and anything of Poppa's that is there as well. Here is the card with the name and address to the storage facility that currently holds your property. It is paid up until the end of the month. I would consider retrieving it before then, however. Their prices are a little steep."

Aiden automatically caught the keys and card that she dropped into his hand.

"Have a nice life, Aiden," Bella told him. "Stay the hell out of mine."

He turned, stunned, as she walked out the door. Sheldon stood by his secretary's desk and looked back and forth at Aiden's gaping mouth and Bella's retreating back. She paused only long enough to retrieve her blasted bondmate; slipping her arm into his as she went. The two men exchanged looks before Bella's fiancé followed her down the hall.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

She had somehow gotten the edge on him. He had been too complacent and severely underestimated her. But it wasn't over. Aiden Marcel Hamilton was not a stupid man. There was a way he could still come out on top in all of this and regain his father's company. If he played this right, he might get it all . . . But in any event, he would do whatever was necessary to make certain that his little sister lost everything.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Hoo Boy! What's that bastard up to? Well . . . Of course, _I_ know, but do you have a clue? This and other questions you might have will be answered shortly. **

**And didn't you love Elle in this? Remember, she has a degree in business as well as music. (I don't, so I tend to fumble around as I research the crap out of things, but thankfully, this is fiction, and while I strive to remain as realistic as possible, there are times when I will tweak the law around to fit my plot. But I promise that even if I'm blowing smoke up your . . . Well, blowing smoke; I will attempt to make that smoke appear to be as solid as my magic mirror can manage. **

**SHTF coming up!**


	82. Nonna Knows Best

**This is Thursday. Two days after the last chapter. (Today, by our calendar. LOL!)**

**No Warnings . . . **

* * *

"I wish you could stay longer," Elle told her grandfather as she hugged him. "You just got here." They really only had a couple of days together since her father's funeral.

"You could always come with us, no?" The elder gentleman rocked her gently. "We missed you at Christmas."

"Well, you two gave me the best Christmas present ever by flying over here," Elle declared. "I was so glad to see you. You both were such a comfort to me."

Noemi clicked her tongue. "Eh, well, that could be debatable," she laughed. "Ricardo certainly put me in my place."

Dick blushed, but didn't apologize. He might respect Elle's grandparents and even liked them once he had the opportunity to get to know them better, but Elle was the most important person in his life and she would always come first with him.

"You both will come back for the wedding," Dick asked them. It was a sop to Elle's Nonna.

"You still haven't chosen a date," Noemi reminded them. "How can we make plans without a date?"

Elle pulled her grandmother into a hug next. "I will call you, of course," she promised. "Thank you for coming," she repeated.

"Of course, we come," Noemi told her. She pulled back and ran a hand along Elle's face. "Sei la nostra piccola Bella. Non c'è niente che non faremmo per te." _("You are our little Bella. There is nothing we would not do for you.")_

The tears that Elle had been holding back slipped her control and fell down her cheeks. "E' solo che mi mancate." _("It's just that I will miss you.")_

Noemi smiled; pulling her granddaughter back into another tight hug as Dick shook hands with her husband.

"Nonsense," she told her. "You have a new family to take care of now. You will be too busy to worry about a couple of vecchi brontoloni."

"You are not old geezers," Elle laughed as she wiped her eyes.

"We are," Noemi declared. "But only your Nonno looks it."

Luca glanced over at the two women. "So because my mother did not find herself a fish to love, I am made fun of. I look distinguished, I tell you. All of your Nonna's chatty old friends have admitted it to me."

Dick laughed. "So, does this mean when I am a doddering old man, that Elle will still look as gorgeous as Noemi?"

To Elle's surprise, her grandmother blushed. "You will call me Nonna, young man," she told him with mock sternness. "We are your grandparents now as well."

He pulled the older woman into an embrace and then kissed both of her cheeks. "I will," he promised. "But no one will believe it for a minute."

"It is not fair," Luca bemoaned. "She is my elder by twenty months, and yet people confuse her for my daughter."

Dick startled. "Seriously?"

He could see people getting confused because the woman easily looked twenty years younger than she apparently was, but to think she was actually the elder of the two was surprising.

Noemi smirked and raised an eyebrow. "I will be sixty-seven on my next birthday."

"You look forty," Dick admitted.

Luca snorted. "It's that fish blood that runs through her veins," he quipped. "You've never seen a wrinkly fish, now have you?"

Noemi laughed and slapped playfully at his arm. "Forza, vecchia capra! Perderemo l'aereo!" _("Go on with you, you old goat! We will miss our flight!")_

Luca turned and winked at the young couple.

"Eh, il sangue di capra non mi farà certo diventare più giovane, ma mi fa rimanere arzilla," he teased, and drew his wife in for a nibble on her neck drawing laughter from his wife as well as Dick and Elle. _("Eh, goat's blood may not make me look any younger, but it keeps me spry!")_

Noemi blushed like a young girl and kissed Luca's cheek. "Sono io ciò che ti fa rimanere arzillo," she told him. _("__**I**__ am what keeps you spry!")_

She tugged Elle aside as Luca picked up their carry-ons. "Adrai presto dal dottore? Un toast secco e zenzero aiutano con le nausee mattutine," she instructed quietly. _("You will go see the physician soon? Stale toast and ginger can help with your morning sickness.")_

Elle paled and stared at her grandmother. "W-What? What are you talking about?"

Noemi smiled at her granddaughter's confusion. "I see that I did not do so well filling in for your mother," she shook her head sadly. "You did not know?"

Elle shook her head a little frantically. "No! I still don't! Nonna, what are you talking about?"

Noemi patted her face gently. "Vai," she instructed once more. _("You go!")_ "You buy those little sticks. Do as they say. They will tell you. Once you see the dottore, mia cara, you call me. I remind you; do not delay your wedding for too long!"

Elle's eyes grew huge once her grandmother's implications became clear. One hand slid over her stomach. "Are you serious? How do you know?"

"I know," Noemi pulled Elle in for one last hug. "Sarai una madre splendida, Bella cara," she whispered. "Now, your young man waits for you, and we must go." _("You will make a wonderful mother, my Bella.")_

* * *

One last round of quick goodbyes followed, and then Luca led Noemi to the line that led to security. Elle leaned back into Dick's chest as he wrapped his arms around her and the waved, but she felt dazed.

She had wondered what the cause of her strange illness was. There had always been other possibilities to account for it. She had even blamed her grief, but if what her grandmother had told her was true? Elle hadn't even considered that she could be pregnant!

Elle looked up at Dick, and he smiled down at her, still clueless to the enormous changes that were about to take over their lives. She still couldn't believe it; was even a little afraid to believe it.

_When could it have happened_? They had tried to be careful, but there had been a few times when being careful hadn't even crossed their minds. The first time at the gym had been too spontaneous. They had been too caught up and had forgotten, but that was rather a long time ago if her morning sickness had only began last week . . . That time in the shower had happened right after the first time she had gotten ill, so that wasn't it either.

Her eyes widened. "The night in the pool," she gasped.

"What was that, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," Elle cleared her throat. "Just thinking out loud."

_Skinny dipping at the manor_! _That **had** to have been it_! It happened just a little more than two weeks before the first bout of sickness!

_And those little sticks Nonna had suggested . . . She had been talking about a pregnancy test_. Elle determined that she would need to buy one of those, but she didn't want to say anything to Dick about it until she knew for sure. She refused to think on the possibility until she could confirm it. The idea was just too overwhelming.

"Are you sure you're all right," Dick asked her, concerned. "You seem a little pale."

"Nothing a little orange juice won't cure," she said, thinking she could better use a shot of whiskey, but there would be no alcohol or wine for her for a while. At least not until she could confirm her suspicions or deny them. And only if it turned out false!

"Come on," he tugged her hand over to one of the little shops that lined the airport. "I'll get you your orange juice, but we need to get back to Bludhaven. I have a few things to do before I go out tonight."

"You're going out tonight?" Elle suddenly wanted him to stay in with her another night, but she had promised him she wouldn't cling to him or stop him from his patrols over silly, little needs.

Dick looked at her concerned. "I've already missed several patrols, Elle. Tim's got a paper due and an exam coming up on Friday he needs to study for. I can't ask him to cover for me again," he told her quietly.

She nodded. He was right. She knew he was right.

"Will you be okay," he asked. "If you like, I can drop you off at the manor for the night so you won't be alone. Alfred would be happy to keep you company, and I can pick you up in the morning."

"No," she assured him. "I'll be fine at home."

"If you're sure," he said.

Elle laughed. "I'm sure!" She opened one of the refrigerated compartments and pulled out a couple of juices. "Do you want one?"

"Yeah, an orange juice sounds great," he smiled. His relief at her assurance was obvious.

Elle handed him several of the small juice bottles to take to the register. Now that the thought had been put in her mind by Nonna, Elle was in a hurry to get home. She had errands to run herself. She rubbed a hand over her stomach.

"Are you feeling sick again," Dick asked, frowning.

Elle grinned. "Actually, I feel pretty great all considering!" She snatched some licorice off of the rack and tossed it by the juices at the register.

Dick wrinkled his nose at the black licorice candy. "I thought you didn't like that stuff."

She blinked at him, looked down at the licorice, and back up. "It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind."

"Hm," Dick smirked and paid for the purchases. "So, I've heard."

Elle grabbed one of the juices and the pack of licorice out of the bag as they left the convenience store.

Dick stared at her. "You're going to eat black licorice with your orange juice? At the same time?"

"What's wrong with that?" Elle asked as she juggled the juice to open the candy.

He made a face at her. "Ugh! Whatever," he said. "Just don't expect any kisses until we get home and you've brush your teeth."

Elle laughed and whacked him on the back of the head with a stick of licorice.

"Ow," Dick complained. He walked faster to get out of range.

Elle picked up her pace, but kept her licorice to herself this time. The sooner they got back home the better.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Yeah, I know . . . Black licorice and orange juice! Bleh! But you just don't know what kind of cravings you might get. (For me it was burritos and broccoli! I might have them at the same meal, but at least I didn't put broccoli _IN_ my burritos!)**


	83. Check!

Elle sat the last bag of groceries on the counter and began putting things away. They had been gone unexpectedly for several days and everything in the refrigerator had gone bad or was somewhat less than fresh. Elle had returned from the airport and began doing laundry and cleaning out the refrigerator. By the time she had finished that and gone grocery shopping, the sun was setting. Dick would be back any time now and she hadn't even started dinner.

She pulled the small white pharmacy bag out with the celery and paused. Setting the celery in the crisper, she decided to tuck the bag into her purse until later. She didn't want to take the chance that Dick would happen upon it before she had even taken the test. Her grandmother could be wrong . . . It was possible.

Although Elle had never known her to be wrong about anything truly important before.

She sighed. No sense getting all worked up about it now. She went back to putting the groceries away. The intercom from the building's front desk chimed and caught her attention. Elle went to the front door and pushed the button.

"Yes?"

"Package for Arabella Hamilton is at the front desk." Thomas, one of the night security guards, said. "The delivery guy needs a signature."

She wasn't expecting anything. "Go ahead and sign for me, Thomas. I'll be down shortly."

"Can't," his voice came through the intercom sounding nasally. "It has to be signed by you. Official documents of some sort, apparently."

Elle pouted. "Fine. I'll be right down."

She yanked on her Fozzy Bear slippers. They had seen better days, but they were her favorites. Grabbing her keys, Elle locked up behind her and headed downstairs.

The elevator opened onto the lobby and Elle shuffled out, her slippers making a kind of hushed flip-floppy noise. Thomas looked down and smirked.

"Don't say it," she warned.

Thomas chuckled. "Nice slippers."

"Ah, he said it," she cried out dramatically and then stuck out her tongue. "You are just jealous that you have to wear those ugly things instead of a pair of authentic Muppets slippers like mine," she said, pointing at his black dress shoes.

"Uh, yeah," he grinned. "That's it precisely." He pointed to a delivery guy in brown rising to his feet from a convenient chair by the desk. "That's the fellow right over there."

Elle took the pen and quickly signed the sheet on the clipboard. "Do you know who these came from?"

"No ma'am," the guy said politely. "I just deliver them."

Elle glanced at the return address. A Law Office from Chicago, not her own, however. She sighed.

_Let the games begin_, she thought as she waved good night to Thomas and headed back to the elevator and her eleventh floor apartment. She still needed to make dinner. Randi was covering for her one more night, but with Dick going out, she wondered if she should just go ahead in. Singing might provide the necessary therapy to keep her sanity.

No, she thought as she watched the floor numbers light up in order. _I need to see what Aiden is up to and start thinking of another way to travel the distance to Chicago._ Despite what everyone thought, Elle had no intention of moving back to the Windy City. Dick's life was here, and she was fairly certain that he wouldn't want to uproot himself to move to Chicago.

Elle was already searching for someone with the experience to take over for her on a day-to-day basis, someone she thought she could trust. In the meantime, she would be forced to make the two hour plus commute at least three times a week in the beginning . . . Starting next Monday.

Something else she hadn't told Dick.

He seemed to think she could handle the company from here via teleconferencing and Fed Ex. Unfortunately, if she wanted to make certain that her father's legacy survived and the company thrived, Elle would be required to make the occasional personal appearance.

All she wanted to do, however, was sing.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Elle tossed the envelope onto the coffee table and went back into the kitchen to put away the rest of the groceries. She suddenly wasn't in the mood to cook. Maybe they could get something delivered. She called for pizza.

Sitting down on the sofa, Elle eyed the envelope warily. She couldn't put it off any longer. She picked it up and opened it. Sliding the documents out, Elle frowned.

"What the _hell_?" Her voice rose on every word. "That scum-sucking _bastard_! Aargh! He is _**not**_ going to get away with this!"

Aiden had pulled off the kid gloves. No wonder he wasn't foaming at the mouth when she tromped his ass at the lawyer's office! He had been angry but Elle had expected him to lose it. He hadn't. He had let her have her way because he had been busy himself apparently. She was surprised he hadn't thrown this in her face then in order to see her expression, but this . . . this way was better.

She had to give him credit. Neither their father nor Elle had expected this move, although maybe she should have. Hadn't he told her often enough that she was too incompetent to run her life, let alone the company?

She looked at the court order in her hand. A summons . . . She had been served, and now had thirty days before she needed to show up for a mental competency hearing.

Aiden was taking her to court in an effort to prove she was incapable of not only running their father's company and the millions he had left her, but her entire life! He wanted to be named as her legal guardian and made her durable power of attorney in matters of finances and mental health!

Her brother had turned her life into a chess game and he just put her into check.

With Elle declared unable to make fit decisions for herself, he could prevent her marriage to Dick and force her back to Chicago. He could confine her to the house or even go so far as to have her institutionalized and place in a mental facility where they could drug her to oblivion. With Aiden in charge of every aspect of her life, he could even prevent Dick from visiting her!

And that . . . That would kill her. Literally.

Elle leapt up from the couch and ran to her desk in the corner. She had a copy of the will filed in the drawer. If she died, was the company supposed to go to Dick? Or was it supposed to go to her husband? If Aiden could prevent their marriage and then allowed her to wither and die while still controlling her assets, would he be able to steal the company and her inheritance?

He would be able to get away with murder! Aiden wouldn't have to touch her, wouldn't have to do a single thing but prevent Dick from seeing her. He could lock her away and forget about her and in a few months someone would call to inform him that despite all their attempts to save her life, his sister had wasted away and died.

And he would get it all . . .

Damn it! If she and Dick got married immediately, she would still have to show up for this hearing and prove she was capable of running her own life and making sound decisions. And if it were determined that she wasn't . . . What would that mean? Could Aiden have the marriage annulled?

Elle's hand slid down to her belly. The baby? _IF_ there was indeed a baby . . . What would happen to it? If she lived to give birth, Elle was certain that Dick could petition the courts for custody of his child. As the biological father, he would win. She knew that Bruce would make certain of it.

But according to Arthur and her father, without contact with her bondmate, a Siren, at best, would only survive a few short months. Three, maybe four if she were lucky. Certainly not the nine required for a full-term pregnancy!

Shaking, Elle pulled the file with her father's will out and laid it on the desk. She began skimming it, searching for the article that determined the fate of the company upon her death. That would tell her if Aiden's plan would work. But Elle felt a growing fear and depression building inside of her. Her brother wouldn't have bothered going to all this trouble if, after everything was said and done, her inheritance went to someone else.

"There you are," she said aloud to an empty room.

Elle read the legal jargon carefully. She frowned and reread it to make certain she had understood it correctly . . . And then sagged in relief.

Her father had instructed that upon her death, Hamilton Industries would go to her bondmate and went so far as to name him, Richard John Grayson-Wayne, or to any children, should they have them. No mention was made to marriage or husband, so that wasn't required prior to her death to ensure that the transfer of her property and assets went to Dick.

_Okay_, she thought. _Okay_. It was in Aiden's best interest to keep her alive. He could still lock her away, but he couldn't deny Dick access to Elle without risking her life.

She wondered suddenly if Aiden even knew that particular requirement of the bond. Would he kill her with his ignorance? Somehow, the knowledge that, in the end, he would be losing everything he had hoped to gain didn't really make her feel that much better. Not when she could still die.

Death by ignorance was still death.

She had to fight this.

Elle's mind began to race. She knew without saying that Aiden had already bribed a psychiatrist for his testimony, likely more than one. She would need to get her own psychiatrists, her own witnesses, her own lawyers that were well-versed in this sort of case. She would need to talk to Dick. Picking a date never seemed so important than now. It was possible that even should she be found legally incompetent, if she were already married, that maybe the court would allow Dick to be named her guardian.

She ran back to the court summons and read it over again. The hearing would take place in Chicago, meaning that Aiden would have the judge in his pocket. She would see if she could petition to have the case moved to Bludhaven or, better yet, to Gotham City. As long as it was still within the state, the hearing could be held technically anywhere.

Thirty days . . . That didn't leave her with much time to prepare, but it couldn't be much harder than convincing seven members of her board of directors and upward 100 stockholders to vote to release control of a successful, viable part of their company, especially since it wasn't even being sold for a profit. But she had done it.

She could do this, too.


	84. Running Behind

**Today is a TWO-FER! Watch for chapter 85 to be posted later this afternoon! **

**No Warnings . . .**

* * *

Dick entered the apartment building. Being away from Bludhaven for so long, things tended to build up. He had been kept busy for most of the day and now he was late coming home. He checked his watch. He needed to head out in less than an hour. Just enough time to grab something to eat and change.

Elle had wanted him to stay home with her another night, although she never came right out and told him so. But it was obvious by her dismay, when he had mentioned it before, that she hadn't wanted him to go out. Dick might have given into her whim, after all her father had been buried just a few days ago, but Bruce had called him earlier with a request for backup in a huge raid going down by the docks tonight in Gotham. It was a case Bruce had been working on for several months that was finally coming to fruition.

Batman was to be working in tandem with Gordon and the GCPD. The plan was for Batman and Nightwing to go in first and take down the small army that was scheduled to accompany the major drug and illegal arms shipment, and to corral the big boss that was rumored to be present in order to oversee the unloading of this shipment personally. Batman suspected that there was something even bigger going on behind the scenes and had taken care to plan the raid out meticulously.

Dick couldn't let Bruce down. He would make it up to Elle tomorrow. Maybe dinner and dancing if she felt up to it. He was still a little concerned for her. He knew she hadn't been feeling well for over a week now, and was worried there might be something more wrong than a bit of bad Chinese food and her grief could account for. He was still a little upset with her that she didn't go to the hospital after her run in with Aiden and thought her occasional nausea and dizziness might be related to the concussion she had received that night.

He unlocked the door, and spotted Elle curled up on the couch with pizza and the TV remote. She smiled at him, and he felt a wave of happiness and warmth greeting him.

"Hey, babe! I'm sorry I'm late," he tossed his coat over the chair and leaned in for a kiss. "Mm, you taste like pepperoni and Italian sausage."

Elle chuckled, but it wasn't that full-bodied laughter that he had been expecting. He looked more closely. She seemed a little subdued.

"Uh oh. What's wrong," he asked.

"Nothing that can't wait until you've had a chance to sit down and eat first," she told him.

"Hm, not sure I like that sound of that," he commented. "Is it something that might ruin my appetite?"

He noted that three pieces of the large pizza was missing. The news couldn't be too terrible if Elle's appetite hadn't been affected adversely.

"Can it wait until tomorrow? I'm running behind," he asked as he picked up a slice of pizza and headed into the spare bedroom where he kept one of his Nightwing uniforms.

"But you just got here," Elle complained.

She got up and followed him in; watching Dick open the closet and press a hidden button. The back portion of one wall opened like a door and revealed his uniform and a small arsenal within.

"I know, but I'm running behind," he spoke around a mouthful of pizza.

Elle frowned. "You don't normally leave until nine or ten o'clock."

"I used to go out at eight until I met you," he told her, his voice muffled as he leaned behind the wall to restock the utility compartments hidden in his gloves and boots.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He heard the irritation in her voice and smiled. "Just that you are the kind of temptation that criminals love."

He turned around and almost ran into her. She was scowling at him now. He tapped her nose and smiled. "You make me want to ditch it all and climb in bed with you. To hell with the world! To hell with crime!"

He was a little surprised at the blush that raced up from her throat. Elle turned bright pink. She turned and walked away from him. It was his turn to frown. He hadn't meant to insult her. He had thought he was giving her a kind of compliment. What woman wouldn't love to know she was the ultimate distraction to her man?

"Hey," he reached out to grab her shoulder. "What did I say?"

Suddenly, Elle turned to him and hugged him; nuzzling his neck as she asked. "Is that all I am to you? A great lay?"

His arms slid around her. She still fit him to a tee; soft and curvy in all the right places; like she had been made especially for him.

"Don't knock it," he teased gently; laughing when she huffed with annoyance. "No." he assured her. "You are so much more than that. Why don't you tell me what's bugging you?"

"You're running behind," she repeated his earlier words with a pout.

"A couple of minutes won't hurt," he said.

Elle squeezed him tight. "A couple of minutes won't do."

Concerned again, he looked down at her seriously. "Okay, you need to explain what's wrong. Something's up."

Elle just shook her head; her gaze on his chest. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow," she told him.

He didn't miss the disappointment in her voice. "You're not trying to guilt me into staying in tonight, are you? Because I really can't . . ."

"No!" Her voice was sharp with sudden anger. "I promised you I wouldn't do that! But aren't I allowed to be disappointed sometimes when the greater good takes precedence over my wants and needs?"

He rubbed her shoulders. "What need do you have? If it is something serious . . ." he sighed; pausing to shake his head. "It would have to be pretty damned serious to keep me home tonight. Bruce needs me in Gotham City, sweetheart, and it's pretty important that I be there."

"You don't hear me begging, do you," she snapped, irritatedly. "Go on. Go do your shtick to save the world. We can get together and talk tomorrow."

"It's not the world," he corrected her. "Just our little section of it. Gotham City and Bludhaven."

She turned away again; shrugging. "It nothing that I can't handle by myself," she replied.

If she trying to _not_ to make him feel guilty, she was doing a lousy job of it, he thought even as another wave of guilt flooded him.

"Elle, baby, I'm sorry," he said to her back.

He shoulders slumped as she sighed. "No," she murmured. "No, don't be sorry. Honest, it's okay. Tomorrow we can talk. Bruce needs you, you said. He wouldn't have asked if it weren't important. There is time," she assured him.

While her words made him feel better, it wasn't by much. "All right, then. Tomorrow, I promise. You'll have my undivided attention all day long. So much so that you'll probably be shoving me out the door to go on patrol just to be rid of me for a few hours."

Elle smiled at him from over her shoulder. "That sounds like a lot of attention. Are you certain you'll be up to it?"

"Baby, if there is one thing I am sure of," he kissed her behind her ear as one hand slipped around her waist, "it's your ability to make sure I am _up_ for anything."

He tugged her back against him. "See what I mean?"

Elle laughed at his obvious innuendo; wiggling. Dick groaned in response.

"Wicked," he moaned, dropping his head down to press another kiss to her shoulder. ""I am so running late . . ."

She pulled away abruptly and shoved him back into the walk-in closet. "Go," she exclaimed, finally grinning at him. "Change! The sooner you go; the sooner you'll get back! Tell Bruce I said hello and good luck."

Dick, already stripping his shirt over his head, said, "Bruce doesn't believe in luck."

Elle rolled her eyes. "That's right! He's a bat scout! Then tell him to kick some bad guy butt for me."

Dick laughed as he tossed the shirt aside and prepared to pull on his armored tunic. "Now that I can do."

When he left through the kitchen window ten minutes later, Dick was feeling better about leaving her alone tonight. A twinge of discomfort remained, but he was sure that was merely because, although Elle had all but shoved him out of the window, she still harbored that sliver of disappointment.

But she wasn't heartbroken, he told himself. She'd survive, just as he was determined to do.

He made his way to a hidden shed behind a neighboring building where he had arranged for his bike to be hidden. The shadows were deeper than usual with only the crescent moon shining and a few stars bright enough to overcome the city's glow. In minutes he was on the road; heading out of Bludhaven toward Gotham City.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**This had been a part of a larger chapter, but it works out better being short. Some of the action you've been waiting for begins in chapter 85 which will be posted this afternoon. I'm am too tired to finish editing it this morning after working all night, but I PROMISE that it will be waiting on you between 4 and 5 pm PST. **

**Today is a TWO-FER! Two chapters posted on the same day! Watch for both . . . And don't forget to review!**


	85. Invasion

**As promised.**

**WARNINGS: Strong Language and Graphic Violence . . . **

* * *

Elle opened the pharmacy bag and pulled out the test. She opened the box and held the little stick in her hand as she read the instructions.

"Huh, seems simple enough," she murmured to herself.

_For best accuracy use in the morning_ . . . Well, that was out. Dick would be back in the morning after his patrol. She wanted to know before then so she could decide how to tell him the news if her suspicions turned out to be true. A few minutes later, Elle left the test on the counter and hopped in the shower.

It took every ounce of her willpower not to peek around the curtain after a couple of minutes had passed. She could wait until after she was finished with her shower, but her mind couldn't stop thinking about what the results of the test would mean for them. Part of her wanted it to be negative because there was a lot going on right now that she wouldn't want to bring a child into, but a surprisingly large part of her wanted the results to be positive.

Her stomach churned with a kind of nervous excitement. Would Dick be happy? Would he be angry?

Elle closed her eyes and drew the curtain back. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't see the results from where she was. She wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the tub. Her hand was shaking as she picked up the stick and stared.

Two lines side by side . . .

_Is that good_? She swallowed and picked up the instructions again, just to make sure.

Two lines meant . . . Positive! _Oh my God_ . . .

"Oh my God," she gasped.

Her legs suddenly felt weak, and Elle sat down on the toilet abruptly. She struggled to get her breathing under control as she figured out what her emotions were. When she was reasonably calm, she stood up in front of the mirror and dropped her towel. One hand caressed her still-flat stomach. She gazed into the looking glass and turned to the side; running a hand once again over her belly as she imagined what it would look like in a couple of months, in six months, . . . in nine.

Her eyes lifted until she was staring at her own face. Her lips tilted up at the sides, just a bit at first, but soon she was grinning. A happy tear slipped free; surprising her.

_A baby_ . . . A little person that would be the combination of both of them and the culmination of their love.

She wondered if it would be a boy or a girl. Would it look like her or like Dick? She hoped it had his shiny, black hair and his incredible, cerulean-blue eyes. Would it be able to sing like her? Would it be able to breathe underwater and swim like she could? Her questions were endless, and her excitement continued to grow with each consecutive one that came to mind. Who would this new little person grow up to be?

She tucked the little stick up in the medicine cabinet. She wasn't hiding it per say, but she wanted to tell Dick herself. Now, she found she couldn't wait until he came home. She was almost tempted to do something she had promised never to do and call him to come home early.

Would it be so wrong of her? Would he consider this news important enough to drag him away from the streets? But no; he was acting as backup to Batman tonight. She would wait until morning.

Elle pulled on a pale pink tanktop and matching panties to sleep in and grabbed her white silk robe. She was towel-drying her hair when she heard the knock on the door of the apartment.

_Dick_?

Excited, she didn't even stop to think about it. Her building had security, after all. Dick was back early! Elle first thought was that he had forgotten his key. If this had happened any other night, Elle might have remembered that Dick never used the door after patrol; he always came through the kitchen window. But her only thought was telling him the news!

She stopped merely to grab the video camera. Elle wanted to record her telling him that he was going to be a daddy on video for posterity. She turned it on and propped it on the entertainment center in a place best positioned to catch the action. Satisfied, Elle unlocked the front door.

"You're home early . . ." Elle broke off; gasping as she abruptly registered that the man standing in her doorway wasn't Dick.

She moved to slam the door shut, but the man stopped it from closing completely, and then kicked the it back in - _**hard**_! The door slammed into the wall and Elle stumbled backward into the entertainment center. The camera wobbled, but remained on its shelf.

As the stranger stepped boldly into the apartment, Elle scrambled to get out of his range. Her first instinct was to run to Dick's secret stash of weapons, but she knew she couldn't lead the man there. He would discover Nightwing's identity! So, instead, Elle jumped onto the coffee table, scattering the papers, and onto the couch; leaping over it in an effort to get to the kitchen.

The kitchen had knives and other potential weapons, and her purse was on the counter with her mace and a stun gun in it.

_Damn it! Why didn't I leave it closer_? _Somewhere where it might do me some good_!

The man jumped after her, catching Elle by the ankle in mid-leap and causing her to fall to the hardwood floor with a loud thump. She managed to protect her head, but her elbows and one wrist took the brunt of the fall. She grunted on impact, but her adrenaline was running high; enabling her to ignore the painful jolt as she rolled and scrambled back onto her feet.

She was only able to take a couple of steps, however, before the man was back on her; tackling her to the ground. A lamp fell to the floor with her; the bulb shattering. Elle grabbed it; not even feeling the broken glass that sliced her hand in the process. He blocked it with his forearm, but her swing was hard enough that he gave a sharp yelp of pain; but not enough that it stopped him from yanking it out of her hands and throwing it aside.

He punched her in the face one, two, three times. Elle couldn't block them fast enough, and her head rocked with the force of it. That last blow caused darkness to envelop her briefly. Or at least she thought it was briefly. Her ears were ringing, her head felt fuzzy, and she thought that maybe her eye was swelling.

He gripped the edges of her robe; pulling her up towards him as Elle struggled to come up with something, _anything_, that she could do to fight this guy! What was it that Dick showed her? She couldn't _think_! Her brain wasn't working! Bruce's advice went straight out the window in her pain and panic! So, she reacted on instinct and hoped for the best.

Elle slapped the man's ears and then grabbed his shirt; yanking him forward as hard as she could as she rammed him in his back with her knees. Amazingly, he flew over her head. Unfortunately, her assailant knew a lot more about fighting that she did. He rolled with it and came back onto his feet, even as she scrambled to her own. Elle flung herself back over the couch. Still feeling the ringing, numbing effects of the blows he had landed; she fell to one knee as she attempted to stand up and run.

She grabbed for the door; finally remembering to scream. Suddenly, he was behind her! He slammed it closed before she could open it more than a couple of inches. Hitting the button on the intercom, Elle screamed for Thomas, but her attacker grabbed her by her arm and neck; spinning her around and flinging her back into the depth of her apartment.

Elle crashed into a side table; hitting her head against the wall. The table collapsed under her weight. Her cell phone, that had been charging on it, was ripped from its cord and went skittering between the upholstered chair's legs and ended up somewhere under the couch. Her apartment phone clattered to the floor beside her.

Elle shook her head and attempted to push herself up, but her arms were shaking so badly, they wouldn't support her. She glanced behind her and realized that her attacker was taking the time to lock the front door. He was turning around when someone, probably one of her neighbors, knocked on the door.

"Excuse me," came a male voice through the door. "I heard a crash and a scream. Are you all right in there? Do you need some help? I can call 911 for you."

_911_! _Of course_!

"Help!" Elle yelled. A boot in her ribs cut off any further cries.

The man turned back the door. With shaking hands, Elle grabbed at the phone. Blood dripped into her eyes. Her hands were covered in it, and made the device slippery. She dropped it on her first try. She hid it from view with her body while her assailant was busy trying to reassure the neighbor that they were fine and just moving furniture; the screams he heard were from the TV.

* * *

Nightwing was cutting through the sparse, late-night traffic that traveled back and forth between Bludhaven and Gotham. He was halfway there and figured he should make it to the rendezvous point with plenty of room to spare. He was just a little more than thirty minutes out of Gotham when a shot of fear nearly sent his bike skidding out from under him.

He fought for control and straightened out. The blaring horn of a semi as it barreled past him told him how close he cut it.

_Elle_?! _What the hell_?

He checked his chronometer on the inside of his visor. Elle should be sleeping now. Did she stay up to watch a movie or was she actually in danger? The bond was frustrating in that it would send you bursts of the other person's emotions and give you a sort of nervous agitation until you acted on it. Unfortunately, it gave you no real information about what caused the burst of fear or anger or whatever wild emotion you were experiencing. This could be nothing more than a mouse startling her or a bad dream.

Batman was depending upon him to assist him in what had been a culmination of months of work. He could just go home only to discover that Elle had had a nightmare, but . . . Dick thought about her brother and his temper; and how he was determined to regain their father's company from her. He personally didn't believe that Aiden would give up so easily, but to come to Bludhaven . . .?

"Elle's home number," he intoned to the speech activated link in his helmet. He listened to the busy signal.

"Elle's cell phone number," he gave next. He was immediately rolled into voicemail which meant she was currently charging the phone and had it off.

He slowed his speed as he contemplated turning around verses continuing onward toward Gotham.

_She was currently on the phone, though_.

She could call him if she truly needed him. Then again, she had promised _not_ to call him while he patrolled unless it was a life and death emergency . . . So, maybe the situation wasn't as dire as his gut was telling him.

* * *

"911, what's your emergency?"

_Oh God, the voice that came through the phone was too loud_!

Elle panicked a little. Her phone had a volume control, but, dazed and panicking as she was, she couldn't figure out where the button for it was located.

"Shh . . ." her voice was breathless and shaky as she whispered into the receiver. "He's still here."

"Who's there? Is there an intruder in your home?" The voice continued at the same volume.

"Please," Elle panted. "Send . . . help."

"What is your address?"

"Shh. He'll _hear_ you . . . I can't . . ." Elle broke off with a gasp.

A slam and a thump sounded behind her.

_He's coming back_!

Leaving the phone line open, Elle shoved the handset away from her. She was so weak, however, that it only slid a few feet away; coming to rest near the edge of another piece of furniture. Her bloody fingerprints were all over it. She prayed he wouldn't notice it lying there; prayed the dispatcher would stop talking!

"I apologize for the interruption, sweetheart. What's the matter? Don't tell me you've run out of fight already? Oh, baby! You and I, we're just getting started." Her attacker chuckled.

_The son of a bitch was enjoying himself_!

Elle tried to crawl away only to have the man drag her back. She winced as she was pulled through splinters and broken glass. Flipping her over, he slapped her!

"Come on! Show some spirit! You're taking all the fun out of this."

Elle snarled at him. "My fiancée is a cop. If he catches you here, he'll put you down like the dog you are!"

The man hesitated. "What? You don't think I can take him?"

"No contest," she hissed at him.

He smiled at her. "Thanks for the warning, sweetheart . . . Because, you see, I'm here for supercop, too."

"Noooo . . ." Elle breathed. "Don't . . ."

"Oh yes. I don't know what you did to piss this guy off, baby, but I'm getting paid for _two_ bodies." He leaned in closer and grinned. "And I was told to make it messy."

He laughed in her face as he pulled out a knife. "Thanks to you, I will retire as rich as a Spanish Conquistador . . . Or maybe a pirate. What do you think? Would I look good in a beard?"

She wouldn't go down without a fight. He meant to kill Dick! He meant to kill her, but if Elle died, then so would their child and _that_ could not happen. She wouldn't allow it. Her hand shot out; slamming her palm heel into his chin. The sound of his teeth snapping shut was loud as he grunted.

Elle grabbed the broken leg of the table she had just demolished and swung it at his head. The blow was solid and struck him in his temple. It must have rung his bell, because her assaulter fell off of her; his knife skittering away under the table near her phone.

"You fucking little bitch!"

She struggled to regain her feet as she scrambled clumsily towards the door again, but her attacker was back on his feet in seconds. Grabbing her around the waist, he flung her into the entertainment center.

She fell to the floor as books, movies, and mementos tumbled and crashed around her. The camera landed on the floor near her hand. Elle knew this was the evidence needed to put this guy away forever, so she shoved it beneath a pile of books and broken pottery. To distract him from what she was doing, Elle rolled over as soon as he reached for her and slammed her foot into his crotch.

As far as distractions went, Elle thought that she might have gotten his full attention with that move. She rushed to get out of his way as he dropped, wheezing, to his knees. Should she try to get out of the apartment again? Should she run to the kitchen for some kind of weapon?

Torn, she hesitated just for a second. The man's hand clamped around her ankle as he yanked her feet out from under her. Elle fell forward; throwing her arms in front of her in an attempt to cushion the fall. The move failed miserably as sharp pain shot up her already injured arm. She grunted when her face struck the hardwood. The impact sent dazzling lights and dark spots spinning across her vision.

She kicked at the man holding her. Her free foot made contact with his face. Elle heard the crack and felt the sudden give of cartilage and bone. His hand loosened enough that she could pull herself out of his grip. She tried to regain her feet, but her legs refused to support her anymore. Crawling around the chair, Elle froze as she got her first unobstructed view of the front door.

A man in pajama bottoms and what she thought might have once been a white shirt lay crumpled across the floor in front of the door. His sightless eyes stared at her as the puddle of blood beneath him spread lazily in her direction. _Oh God_! Elle remembered sharing the elevator with him and his wife just last week!

The scream lodged in her throat. She couldn't talk; couldn't even breathe . . . There was an innocent man lying dead in her apartment and it was all her fault!

"What the _fuck_?"

Her assailant's voice dragged her back to reality, and she twisted to look behind her.

_Oh, damn . . . He had found the phone_.

"You called 911? You little sneak . . ."

He sounded more amused by his discovery rather than angry. In fact, he was smiling when he threw the phone at her.

Elle wanted to dodge, but she felt like she was mired in a foot of mud. Her movements were sluggish; slow. She flung her good arm up too late to block the device as it hit her in the face; splitting her lip and adding to the blood already dripping from her chin.

He stomped over to her and Elle scuttled back until she bumped into the wall behind her. He kneeled beside her. She blinked up at him, warily; too confused to know to cower.

"Change of plans, baby . . ."

He grabbed a handful of hair and used it to ram her head into the wall. Darkness crashed over her like a tidal wave; sweeping everything out from under her, including consciousness.

* * *

He picked up the phone. He considered smashing the thing, but instead he simply ended the call.

He had to admit, the woman had impressed him, but she was no match for a professional hitman. Few of his targets were, but she had shown pluck whereas most people begged for their lives. She had even managed to get in a couple of good shots at him. It would take a week before his nuts would drop from where they had lodged in his chest cavity after she had kicked him.

He smirked as he tossed the phone aside. Dialing 911 had been smart. As it was, he had no idea when the police would arrive. They could show up at any minute. He would need to improvise.

_No matter_, he thought; retrieving his knife and tossing the woman over his shoulder. This was why he was paid the big bucks, after all.

Anyone could kill someone or, with proper planning, even two someones. But the ability to think on your feet; accomplishing your goals even when monkey wrenches were thrown at you, _and_ avoiding capture? _This_ was why his services were in such demand.

He kicked the corpse of the nosy neighbor to the side so that he could open the door and walked out into the hall. He heard the creak of a door and immediately pulled out his gun; firing a bullet in that direction almost without thought. He heard the thunk of his bullet hitting wood. The door slammed shut with a bang. He grinned at the thought of the neighbor pissing his or herself as he entered the stairwell and started down with his prize.

"Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me," he sang cheerfully as he descended the steps.

Other men might have already been planning how to spend their treasure, but not him. He still had a job to do. He wasn't about to count his doubloons before he had earned them. The unexpected happens and plans change sometimes . . . This didn't upset him, however. He had done his research. In fact, he thought this way might prove to be more interesting.

* * *

**REACTIONS? I expect a few . . .**

**One burning question has been answered only to be replaced by a dozen more! I won't make you wait too long. Expect another chapter tomorrow late afternoon or evening****.**

**The title for this, if you haven't already guessed, represents a terrifying "home" invasion.**

**Bit of trivia . . . This scene and the ones following it were written about a year ago in longhand. Back before I even knew that Elle was anything more than an average human being that liked to sing and could swim pretty well. The entire story so far has been building for this moment. But we're not done by a long shot!**


	86. Motives

**WARNINGS: STRONG Language . . .**

* * *

Detective Nathan Campbell walked around the police car and through a half dozen cops to reach the steps of the apartment building. He bounded through the front doors and into organized chaos. A police photographer was behind the desk, snapping pictures.

He looked around. "What have we got," he asked.

Harry Chon, another BPD detective already on the scene, moved around the desk to meet him. "Homicide. Someone killed the security guard. Man's name was Thomas Dulane. Double tap to the chest; one to the head. Looks professionally done, but forensics is on it."

"Any witnesses? Someone had to have heard the gun," Campbell said.

Chon shook his head. "No one heard a thing. We think the guy must have used a silencer."

Campbell glanced over his shoulder at the large number of vehicles outside. It was an epileptic's nightmare. "All this for a security guard? No offense to the guy. I'm sure he was a real upstanding fellow, but this seems like a lot of blue for one guy."

He frowned as he spotted drops of blood on the floor, leading out of the building, or leading in, although that seemed unlikely. The path of the blood trail was cordoned off.

"Did the security guard carry a firearm?" It would be a stroke of luck to get the perp's DNA and blood type.

"No, and this didn't come from here," Chon told him; pointing in the direction of the stairwell, and saving Campbell the seconds it would have taken him to discover it for himself. "The trail starts on the eleventh floor and leads through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. It disappears near the curb; leading us to believe that the perp left in a vehicle. Forensics is busy trying to get a tire print to go off of, but there is so much traffic, we can't be sure any tire prints will belong to the murderer's car."

"But he was injured," Campbell asked. "The perp, I mean."

Chon shook his head again. "Look, you need to start upstairs. So far, we have two dead bodies and one kidnap victim missing, possibly already dead."

"Right," Campbell moved toward the elevator. He would start at the top and make his way back down.

"Oh, and Campbell?" Chon waited until the other detective turned around. "This one is personal. It looks like the kidnap victim, the owner of the apartment, is engaged to a cop."

Campbell scowled; acknowledging the unwelcomed news with a nod. He headed upstairs.

* * *

The place was a shambles. Broken furniture and glass abounded as did blood. He knelt beside the body of a man. By his position, he looked like he had been shoved aside; a trail of congealing blood confirmed as much. He had been killed just inside the door and then shoved out of the path when the murderer went to leave.

He didn't recognize the guy, though, but that didn't mean he didn't feel solid remorse over the loss of a fellow officer. He waved at the uniform stationed at the door.

"Hey," Campbell read his badge. "Henderson! Did you know him?"

Officer Henderson shook his head. He pointed to a weeping woman talking to a couple of officers in the hallway. "That's a neighbor. His wife is over there. Loud noises and a scream woke them up. This guy, Christopher Gerhig, came over to see what was happening and if the woman who owns the apartment needed any help. Whoever our murderer is, killed him and dragged his body inside. The wife dialed 911 just a few minutes after dispatch received a call from this address."

"This address? So this guy's sacrifice gave the victim time to call for help?" Campbell murmured. He made a note to have a copy of the tape from the call forward to his phone.

He moved around carefully before stopping by the broken side table along the wall opposite the door. One lone picture still hung here, although it was lopsided. He ignored the urge to straighten it, however, until he could be sure that the police photographer had time to get a shot of it.

He tilted his head in order to check it out. He was assuming at this point that the kidnapped victim was the woman in the picture and that the cop engaged to her was the fellow dancing with her. One side of his mouth quirked up. _They look good together_.

He stared hard at the man. He looked familiar. Campbell was positive that he had seen the guy before. At the station? Possibly.

"So, anyone know this guy," he called out, pointing to the picture with his thumb.

"I know him."

Campbell turned around. Officer . . . Thatcher. "What can you tell me about him, Thatcher?" He hated to do it, but Bludhaven was still swarming with dirty cops. Until he had an alibi, this guy was a suspect.

""His name is Richard Grayson. Most of the guys called him Dick," Thatcher reported.

"_Dick_? Like the nickname for Richard or because he's an asshole?"

"Like the nickname for Richard," Thatcher clarified. "Nice guy. He was pretty amazing back in the academy. Top scores in everything. It made some people loved him; others . . . not so much."

"So," Campbell looked at his watch. "It's twenty after twelve. Where is he?"

"I heard tell he has an apartment across town," Thatcher said. "Although I did hear one of the forensics people say that he keeps clothes here, too."

Campbell narrowed his eyes and looked around. Despite the mess, the apartment was in an upscale part of town. Its furnishings, although mostly demolished, were high-end stuff. Grayson looked as though he were moving up in the world. Campbell wondered what the woman did. She was probably well-paid to be able to afford this.

"Tell me about the woman," Campbell asked as he knelt to note different areas that were especially destroyed. Struggles took place in each. The woman was a fighter. The man had had to struggle to subdue her.

"Arabella Hamilton, according to the lease. She's a musician based upon the number of instruments we've found stashed throughout the place. Lost her father recently. Cedric Hamilton."

"Wait! Did you day Cedric Hamilton? That millionaire out of Chicago?" Campbell's ears perked up.

"Excuse me, detective?"

Campbell turned as one of the forensic people stepped up to him. He didn't recognize her. Checking her name out on her badge, he decided she was new. He knew everyone in the forensics department.

"What have you got for me, Lisa, is it?" Campbell asked her.

She handed him a Fed Ex envelope and several sheets of paper. "I found this under the couch with what I believe is the victim's cell phone."

Campbell yanked some latex gloves out of his pocket and took the items from the young woman. "Well, Thatcher, Lisa, let's see what we've got here," he said as he carried the items to the dining room table.

He spread the papers out, scanning them as he placed them into two piles. "Looks like we have two separate documents," he mumbled; thinking out loud. "This one is a copy of Cedric Hamilton's last will and testament, and this one . . . is a court order for Arabella Hamilton to appear in Chicago for a competency hearing."

He whistled. "Has anyone here ever met this woman before?"

Thatcher shrugged. "Not personally, no. At least, not that I know of. I saw this little music video she did once for Grayson, however. Why?"

"Music video, huh?"

Thatcher grinned. "It was pretty good."

"Hm," Campbell nodded. "Did she seem with it to you? Or could you tell?"

"With it?" Thatcher frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, did she seem . . . like, normal to you?" Campbell made a face. He hated all the political correct crap nowadays. Fuck it. "Or was she, like, retarded?"

Lisa Whatshername looked a little shocked, but managed to contain it. Thatcher, however, snorted.

"Oh, she looked with it all right," the officer smirked. "She was kind of hot!"

Campbell rolled his eyes. As he suspected as he continued to scan the documents and compare; someone, probably this other guy, Aiden Hamilton, was trying to steal her inheritance . . . which was considerable! He raised his eyebrows. Damn . . . But would he get it if she died? Another page and a couple of paragraphs down answered that question; no.

It would, however, go to Officer Grayson . . .

_Bingo_! He thought. _Motive_! _Just follow the money_. It worked in solving almost ninety percent of their cases.

"Thatcher, get on the radio and send a car over to Officer Grayson's apartment," Campbell ordered.

"Um, okay, sure," the younger man agreed. "I'm on it."

Something clicked in his brain, and Campbell glanced back at the will where it listed Officer Grayson as the secondary heir to the majority of Cedric Hamilton's millions. _Where was it? There_ . . . If, for some reason, Arabella Hamilton died, Richard John Grayson-Wayne would inherit Hamilton Industries and the sum of $348 million; him or their children or children's children. He read the name again; Richard John Grayson-Wayne. Grayson-Wayne . . . _Hm_, _Wayne_.

_Why did that mean something_? Apparently, Officer "Dick" was known on the force only by Grayson. The hyphenated "Wayne" had been left off . . . Why? This was significant, but Campbell wasn't sure how yet.

There were plenty of dirty cops in Bludhaven. Campbell had been unsurprised when some of the evidence implicated the fiancé. In homicide cases, the spouse, significant other, boyfriend/girlfriend, or, as in this case, the fiancé was always suspect number one until proof or an alibi can be found to clear them from the list. Or unless compelling evidence was found that implicated someone else.

This Aiden-dude was still on there, but from what little Campbell gleaned from his scan-through of the will and the court order, it didn't really make sense for him to be behind this. But Campbell hated dirty cops . . . And this one bothered him.

Why did it bother him? It was more than he hated finding more evidence of the stinking disease that ate at the fiber of an honorable profession . . . _His_ honorable profession! He turned his head and glanced back at that picture hanging askew on the wall; the one of the couple dancing.

The two of them had been gazing adoringly into one another's eyes. They certainly 'looked' like they were in love. He prided himself on his observation skills and his ability to 'read' people, and if he were any judge at all, Grayson – or Grayson-Wayne, whatever he was calling himself these days – was either seriously head over heels in love with that woman or he was Oscar-award-winning material.

Maybe _that_ was what was bothering him.

It wasn't just that he didn't want to discover yet another fellow cop was dirty. Campbell didn't want that look he saw in that photo to be a lie. It gave him hope; that look. Hope that the world in general, and specifically Bludhaven in particular, wasn't a lost cause; that he wasn't risking life and limb every day for a city of lies.

Campbell wouldn't mind taking a bullet for something like what he saw in that photograph, however. He'd be willing to die to protect something like that.

* * *

As Thatcher stepped away to either do his bidding or delegate the task to another uniform, Campbell turned his attention to the victim's cell phone. He turned it on and began scrolling through her numbers; handling it carefully so as not to smudge any potential fingerprints.

"Lisa, I'll need someone to get a list of all of these people, including full name and addresses."

He came to the end of the list, frowning. Grayson's name wasn't listed. He went back through, looking in the D's, the G's, the R's, and lastly the W's. Could the two have had a falling out? He moved through the list backward, slowly. He stopped and stared. His lips lifted and he chuckled, then covered it with a cough.

_Rather inappropriate, Campbell_, he berated himself. But he was certain he had discovered Grayson's phone number under a title rather than a name. After all, who else would label someone '_Sweet Cheeks_', if not your fiancée?

He pulled out his note book, jotted down the number, and started scrolling again. Third time's a charm . . . He halted a second time. How had he missed this before? Bruce Wayne? The billionaire . . . was on speed dial.

The name . . . Wayne. _Wait just a damn minute_! Was this unassuming Bludhaven cop somehow related to the Gotham City Billionaire? This was something that bore looking into. If Grayson was related to Wayne, and was also in good standing with the man, then his motive for murdering or kidnapping his fiancée just went flying out the window.

"Hey, Campbell," Chon called as he entered the apartment; stepping over the mess, the body, and the blood. "The super just gave us the security footage for the lobby, and you won't believe what we've found!"

The decision was made to use the victim's television to watch the footage. Chon had already viewed it, so he put it in and skipped to the time log the preceded the 911 call by forty minutes. All movement stopped in the apartment, even talking was suspended although there was no sound, as the forensics team and the two officers watched the action unfolding.

The murder of the guard happened extremely fast and executed with precision; reinforcing the detectives' theory that this was a professional hit. The guy comes through the door and in seconds the guard is dead on the floor. He manages to walk around the desk and hide the body, look up information (presumably Arabella Hamilton's apartment number), and enter the elevator all without ever showing more than perhaps twenty-five percent of his face. Yet another clue that the guy did this for a living.

He knew where the camera was at.

Chon skipped ahead fifty minutes later, and they could see the door to the stairwell opening to the far left of the screen. The guy was carrying a body of a woman over his shoulder. She was barefoot, and blood could be seen dripping from her toes from cuts visible even in the slightly-grainy picture. She was wearing what Campbell assumed was a short, silky, white robe, or what he thought used to be white. It was streaked with red stains from her injuries. Her body was draped carefully over the shoulder between the camera and the man's face. As he passed by, the woman's long, dark hair covered her face, but blood could again be seen staining the back of the man's shirt and pants. Somehow, Campbell assumed that most, if not all, of the blood visible came from the woman's injuries.

Chon was paused the video when Thatcher reentered the apartment.

"No one's home at Grayson's apartment," he told him.

Campbell indicated the partial they had of the kidnapper. "You recognize anyone here," he asked the officer.

Thatcher looked at the screen as Chon brought up the best angle they had of the perp's face. He was silent for a moment, and then shook his head. "Nope! Never saw the guy before."

Campbell looked at him, unamused. "You can say that with conviction?"

Thatcher hesitated. "Well, no, but I was assuming you were asking if I thought that guy was Dick Grayson. He isn't."

"You're that sure? That's not a very good picture. It's all grainy and not very clear, and the partial face is barely even that. He's kept his head away from the camera the entire time," Campbell wanted to be certain.

"Well, it's kind of hard to tell from the angle of the camera, but I think this guy is taller than Grayson. He's definitely stockier throughout the body, although Grayson's shoulders and chest are impressive for his build. This guy's hair looks shorter and lighter as well. I suppose Grayson could have gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him," Thatcher postulated.

"And when was that," Campbell asked.

"A week ago, or thereabouts." Thatcher admitted.

"Have you met any of Grayson's family perchance?" It was a shot in the dark, but Campbell tried anyway.

Thatcher snorted. "No. We're not exactly close. Just co-workers. We've worked an accident together a few times, and answered a number of 10-31s with him."

"Has he ever talked about them?"

"His family?"

Campbell nodded. "His father or uncle specifically?"

"No, sorry," Thatcher answered. "You might try Amy Rohrback, though. She's his partner."

"Hm," Campbell hummed noncommittedly. He hoped it wouldn't come to that; that the evidence would lead him in another direction, but he scribbled the partner's name down anyway.

Another forensic tech entered the living room from the short hallway. The tech waved at Lisa, and Campbell grew curious as he watched the fellow whispering to her.

_That guy found something_ . . . Whether or not it related to the case remained to be seen, but he found something that was worth noting.

Lisa came back to him with a small, white stick in a baggie and held between gloved fingers.

"We might want to step this up," she told him in a frantic whisper. "We need to find this woman as soon as possible!"

"We always try to find the victims quickly and safely if we can," Campbell scolded lightly. He was even more curious to know why the woman who was totally professional ten minutes ago seemed suddenly agitated.

"One of the other techs found this hidden behind some things in the medicine cabinet," she told him.

Campbell took the baggie from her and held it up. "What is it?" he asked. But one glance already told him everything he needed to know.

_A pregnancy test_? . . . _Oh shit; it was positive_!

"Damn it," he growled angrily, startling Chon and a handful of others. "Goddamn it to hell!"

"What's up," Chon asked, leaning in over his shoulder to squint at the little stick. "Oh, man . . ."

"How old do you think this is," Campbell asked her.

Lisa sighed. "Hours . . . maybe; if that. Devon said, he found the box in a pharmacy bag with the receipt. It's dated today," she looked at her watch and corrected herself. "I mean, yesterday late afternoon."

"Shit," Campbell spat. "Do you think Grayson knows that his fiancée's pregnant?"

"Did anyone ever find him," Chon asked, looking around the room.

Campbell frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Just that the security footage shows him entering the premises an hour and a half before this guy," Chon points to the perpetrator on the television screen, "shows up . . . But it doesn't show him leaving."

Campbell frowned. "What? Are you shitting me?" He turns around and barks, "Check the windows, the closets, under the beds!" He points to Thatcher. "Start knocking on doors. See if he's visiting any of the neighbors."

"You think maybe he's having a poker night with the boys," Chon asked.

Campbell scowled. "I'm thinking that it's time we try to find the bastard."

Thatcher frowned. "You think he's guilty of something?"

"No. No, I don't," he sighed. "I don't see this guy leaving his fiancée alone if she told him she was pregnant unless the kid isn't his. I don't see this guy running out on his woman, pregnant or not, if she were being attacked. So, he's either visiting someone or maybe the murderer got the better of him and stashed his body someplace."

Chon glanced back at the neighbor's body. "Why would the murderer leave this guy lying around and go to the trouble of hiding the body of someone he supposedly planned to kill?"

"How do you know he was planning to kill Grayson, too?"

"The murderer admits to as much. It was caught on the 911 tape after the victim called in," Chon told him.

"Did you hear it," Campbell asks.

Chon shook his head. "Not yet. Was just given the basics from the call."

Campbell grabs Lisa's arm. "Get me that tape!"

Thatcher returned. "Forensics has given this place the once over and there are no other bodies stashed anywhere," he reports. "And None of the neighbors has admitted to seeing Grayson tonight."

"Then where is he?" Campbell looked at Chon and exclaimed. He tossed his arms wide to encompass the demolished apartment.

Chon fished his cellphone out of his pocket. "I think it's time we ask him. You got his number?"

Campbell smiled, remembering the victim's entry title for him. "I do," he said, pulling out his notebook. "That I do."

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Update tomorrow . . . Earlier, I promise. Watch for it! Wonder what Dick's going to tell them about how he got out of the building without being seen on the security video. Hm . . .**

**Oh, and a 10-31 stands for "Crime in Progress".**


	87. Roadside Rage

**WARNING: _VERY_ STRONG LANGUAGE . . . **

* * *

Ten minutes out of Gotham and another five to reach the docks, Nightwing felt his cellphone vibrate. He had it hooked into the device in his helmet.

"Number," he intoned, and the number flashed onto the top, left-hand side of his visor.

He didn't recognize it.

"I.D.," he requested, and the name Harry Chon was displayed.

Nightwing frowned. He recognized the name of one of the detectives on the BPD. Why would Chon be calling him; he checked his chronometer, at twelve-fifty in the morning? Batman was counting on him. He couldn't afford to be called into work now.

"Ignore," Nightwing instructed. The buzzing stopped.

A minute later, his cell buzzed again. This time a different number came up.

"I.D.," he requests.

This time Nathan Campbell's name popped up in his display. Nightwing wasn't sure he knew this name. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. But then again, he preferred to be left alone when out in this personae, so he didn't put much thought into it.

_Must be a hell of an accident_, he thought, a little guiltily. He ignored the pang. He would feel so much worse leaving Bruce in a lurch.

"Voicemail," he instructed. Curious, he decided he could just listen. If it were a wrong number, he could always delete it.

"Richard Grayson? This is Detective Nathan Campbell from the Bludhaven Police Department. It's important that you give me a call back at this number, ASAP."

_What the hell_?

His exit was coming up in another eight miles. He couldn't . . .

His cellphone buzzed a third time in about as many minutes. He almost declined it automatically, but then he recognized Elle's cell number. Her name popped up on his visor. Maybe now he would be able to find out what had frightened her earlier. Maybe Mook had gotten out of his terrarium again. The poor tarantula would likely be spending the night under the colander until he could get back. He smiled as he instructed the device to answer.

_Finally_! Someone he _wanted_ to talk to . . .

* * *

"Hand me the vic's cellphone," Campbell ordered even as he ended his call and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Chon watched as the new girl plucked the phone out of a plastic bag and carefully handed it to the other detective. Campbell pulled another pair of gloves out of his pocket.

"My last pair," Campbell mumbled as he tugged them on, and then carefully turned the phone back on; scrolling to the number he wanted. "Well, if he won't pick up for us, maybe he'll pick up for her."

He pressed send and set it on the dining room table; placing it on speaker so that they could all hear.

* * *

"Hey, Baby! I tried to call you earlier," Nightwing said to her as soon as he answered. "What's up? Can't you sleep?"

"Richard Grayson," a deep male voice came through the line.

He was so startled hearing an unfamiliar male voice on his fiancée's phone, he nearly lost control of his bike. Braking hard, the squeal of the tires was loud, and the engine roared with unaccustomed ferocity as he skidded to a halt in the middle of his lane!

"_**Fuck**_!" Nightwing was forgotten and Dick came to the fore. "Who the _hell_ is this? _Where's Elle_?!"

"Take it easy, Dick," the voice instructed him.

"Who the hell are you, and what the _**hell**_ are you doing with my fiancée's cell phone?! _**Where's Elle**_?!" Dick roared that last question as he gripped the handlebars of his bike so hard he was surprised he wasn't bending the metal.

"Dick, you need to calm down and pull off of the road," the man told him with infuriating calmness. "You're on the road, aren't you? I can hear the traffic."

"_You_ need to answer my fucking questions," Dick snarled into the built-in mouthpiece.

There was another squeal of tires as a pickup swerved into the other lane to avoid him. A horn blared in annoyance. Dick ignored it.

"What was that? Have you pulled off the road? Are you in a reasonably safe location?"

"You need to put my fiancée on the line," Dick demanded. "_**Right the fuck now**_!"

There was a sigh and some shifting noises. A murmur . . . Did this guy have him on speaker phone?

"Dick, listen to me. My name is Detective Nathan Campbell with the Bludhaven Police Department . . ."

"Oh my God," Dick breathed as his heart skipped a beat. "What happened? Where is she? _Where's Elle_?!" His voice rose with every question. "Is she alright?!"

"Who is Elle," the detective asked.

"What do you mean who is Elle? Elle is Arabella," Dick snapped angrily. "Something you would know if _she_ had given you her phone!"

Another horn sounded as a car sped by him. Dick didn't hear it. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

"Dick, are you off the road?" Campbell asked again. "Where are you, son?"

"Don't call me 'son'! I'm eight miles from Gotham City," he snapped. "_Why aren't you answering my questions_?!"

There was a slight hesitation. "Why are you going to Gotham City at this hour? It's . . ." there is a pause here, "one o'clock in the morning."

Fear was choking him. He was having trouble concentrating as he tried to focus on Elle and her emotions. He frowned. There were miles between them, but he would feel her if she were really scared or . . . hurt. _Oh, shit_ . . .

"It wasn't a nightmare," he whispered.

"What was that," Campbell asked. "I didn't catch that."

Dick swallowed his heart so he could speak. "Please, just tell me . . . Is she alright? Is she okay?"

He couldn't tell . . . His fear was suddenly overwhelming him. He couldn't feel her at all, and that scared him more than anything else. It had been months since he had been alone in his own head. Even when he was out of range, he still seemed to be aware of her hovering . . . just there. But now. Now he felt nothing!

A heavy sigh sounds. "Please, Mr. Grayson, just answer the question."

Formality . . . _Formality wasn't good_. He wished Campbell would go back to calling him Dick.

"I was called home. Family emergency . . ." Dick told him.

"Okay, now one more," Campbell said with ruthless determination. "How'd you get out of the building?"

"What," Dick shook his head. "What the hell difference does that make?"

Speaking slowly, Campbell repeated, "How did you get out of the building without showing up on security's video footage? We saw you come into the building, but according to the video, you never left."

"You son of a bitch," Dick growled. "I was parked behind the building. I sometimes go out through the back door in the basement to save time. What part of a family emergency did you not understand?"

"Is Bruce okay?" Campbell asked, almost casually.

"Bruce?" Dick blinked. _What the hell was he talking about now_? _What had happened to Elle_?

"Mr. Wayne," Campbell clarified for him. "You said you were going to Gotham for a family emergency."

"It hardly feels like an emergency in comparison to this," Dick said. He hunched over the bike. "I think I'm going to be sick," he told Campbell and whoever else was listening. "For the love of God, just tell me . . . _What the __**fuck**__ is going on_?!"

Campbell took pity on him. "We responded to a number of 911 calls; one of which originated here, in your fiancée's apartment."

"_No_, **_no_**, _**NO**_!" Dick tries breathing deeply a couple of times. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and maybe a little bit shaky. "Please . . . Don't tell me . . ." He couldn't say it. But he couldn't feel her anymore either. "Don't tell me she's dead . . . God! Just don't let her be dead . . ."

When Campbell spoke again, the '_official_' voice was gone. He was now speaking to a fellow officer in need.

"Arabella . . . Elle," he corrected himself. "You don't mind if I call her Elle, do you?" Campbell didn't wait for Dick to comment, but plunged on. "Elle was missing when officers arrived on the scene. Her apartment is trashed from what was obviously a violent encounter with an intruder." Campbell paused a brief moment. "A man whom we know has already killed twice."

The sound Dick emitted was somewhere between a whine and a moan.

Campbell continued. "Witnesses claim they saw a man leaving the apartment with an unconscious woman draped over his shoulder. The man shot at them, causing them to duck back into their own apartment and slam the door shut. They were unable to describe the perp; neither were they able to confirm if the woman he carried was, in fact, Arabella Hamilton.

"The security footage from the lobby, combined with the eyewitness accounts, however, leads us to believe that it was indeed Elle that he left with," Campbell concluded.

Dick was silent for a long moment as he processed the information given.

"Are you still there?" Campbell's voice was soft; compassionate.

"So," Dick fell back into the safety of detective work," you cannot say for certain then if she is dead or not."

"No. But the evidence doesn't support the worst case scenario," the detective attempted to comfort.

"I heard a hesitation in there," Dick murmured. "What do you know?"

"I'm sorry, Dick," Campbell told him. "I can't divulge that information over the phone."

"Is there blood?"

"Dick, I cannot tell you that. You are still out on the road," Campbell said.

"Has forensics been able to determine whether or not the blood at the scene is hers?" Dick asked.

Another vehicle sped by; this one a semi-tracker trailer. The driver laid on the horn.

"It's too early yet for that to be determined. Dick, are you far enough off the road to be safe?"

"Why would the guy take her if she were already dead?" Dick struggled to distance himself enough from this that he could be of some help to her. "I understand taking a trophy, but not necessarily a body; particularly if that other body had been left behind. You said there were two other victims?"

"I shouldn't have told you that," Campbell sighed. "That's privileged information."

Dick continued as if Campbell hadn't spoken. "That would suggest that she was alive at the moment of abduction. Right? Why would he kidnap a woman who was already dead?"

He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

There was some murmuring as Campbell conferred with others. Finally, he spoke. "We are reasonably certain she was alive at the time of abduction; yes." Campbell confirmed. "Dick, we need you to come in."

Dick revved his motor. "Detective, you couldn't keep me away if you tried. I'll be there in less than an hour."

"Do you need an escort?"

Dick snorted at the offer.

"Don't speed," Campbell cautioned. "She will need you to be alive when this is over!"

* * *

Dick disconnected the call, yanked off his helmet, and threw it off of the road in a rage!

_Goddamn it_! He wrapped his arms around his waist and hunched in on himself, moaning.

_She had asked him to stay . . . She had asked him to stay just one more night with her_; _**just one**_!

. . . And he couldn't do it.

When she had needed him the most, he hadn't been there.

"_**What the hell is wrong with me**_?!" Dick clutched his head and screamed.

Another vehicle swerved around him; the passenger rolling down the window and yelling. Dick didn't hear him. Didn't care if he had . . .

A car stopped in front of him and put on its flashers. An older woman climbed out, despite the speeding cars around her and the dark, and made her way over to him.

"Are you all right," she asked him gently; bravely laying a hand on a stranger's arm.

Dick blinked at her; not that she would have been able to tell it what with his mask on and all.

"What?" He was disoriented for a moment; confused.

Dick suddenly realized he had been sitting in right-hand lane of an eight-lane freeway in the middle of the night. How was he still alive?

The woman repeated her question and added, "Do you have somewhere you need to be? Would you like for me to drive you?"

The kindness and bravery of the sixty year old woman struck him as being very Elle-like. This was something that his Elle would do! It was also very stupid. He raised his head to smile gently at her, and her headlights struck him in the face; illuminating him for her. She gasped a little, but didn't falter; didn't flinch.

"Oh, Mr. Nightwing!"

She recognized him!

"It's dangerous to be out of your car in the middle of the night," he told her ridiculously. He climbed off of his bike. "Let me escort you back and see you safely inside."

"I came out here because you looked like you were hurt or in trouble," she explained; her words barely carrying over the noise of the traffic around them. "Are you okay? Do you need me to give you a ride to the hospital or . . ." she appeared to be at a loss for a moment, "somewhere else? I have a cellphone," she offered.

"Would you like to call Batman?"

The offer startled him.

"Batman," he asked her as he opened her car door for her and helped her get in.

She smiled at him. "Oh, I know you are all grown up now, but I'm sure that if you called him, he would help you."

Dick's eyebrows shot up beneath the mask. "You . . . You know who I am?"

She chuckled a little as he leaned in to buckle her up. "Of course, I do. You're Nightwing; Batman's little Boy Wonder all grown up and catching criminals on your own now."

A smile edged his mouth. Dick didn't know he had it in him at the moment, but the lady startled it out of him.

"You remember me," he stated. "A lot of people miss the connection."

She patted his arm. "Well, I'm not a lot of people. You go on, now," she told him. "I'm sure you are in a hurry to somewhere and have people depending upon you to save them. I'll sit here with my flashers on until you get back on your bike and get moving."

His heart thumped in his chest at the reminder. "Yes, you're exactly right. I do. Thank you, ma'am. You go on and don't worry about me. Drive safe out there."

She smiled at him. "Such a nice, young man . . ."

Dick slammed the door and ran back to his bike. He pushed it onto the shoulder of the road and waved at the old woman. Her car picked up speed and she turned her flashers off as she disappeared into the sea of darkness and red brake lights.

* * *

He skidded down the embankment with a change of clothes, and flicked on his bat-light as he retrieved his helmet. He cursed the time wasted as he made a quick change. Running back up the incline, it was Dick Grayson that threw himself onto his bike and pulled out into traffic. He cut across several lanes, the median, and onto the freeway that led back to Bludhaven.

He checked his chronometer. _Twenty minutes_! He was supposed to be meeting Batman right about now. _Damn it_!

He activated his secure comlink.

"Oracle?"

"Loud and clear, Nightwing. Go ahead.

"Let Batman know that I'm not going to be able to make it to Gotham tonight, after all. Something's come up. He'll have to get Red Robin to help." Dick kicked his bike into a higher gear.

"A little short notice, don't you think?" Bab's irritation came through the channel perfectly.

"Unavoidable." He snapped.

"You realize that months of work is culminating tonight," Oracle said.

He supposed she was angry because this concerned her dad, too. The commissioner was supposed to be there.

"I'm aware," and he really didn't want to get into it with her.

"You're aware? Are you aware of how many people will suffer if this operation fails? How many could die," she tossed in for guilt's sake.

It didn't work because it couldn't compete with the guilt he was already dealing with at the moment. Was Elle suffering? He tried to feel her, but his own emotions were preventing him from being aware of anything other than his own terror. His heart was pounding.

He needed to calm the hell down. He would be no good to her, if he fell apart out here and managed only to kill himself, and her, in the process.

"Oracle, now's not the time . . ." he warned.

"See? That's just part of the problem," she snarked. "This is about more than just you!"

He considered for all of ten seconds about trying to explain things to her, but realized it didn't matter; there was no way she would ever understand.

Babs had met Elle for all of twenty minutes during Bruce's New Year's Eve celebration party. What he and Babs had shared as a couple couldn't compare to what he had discovered.

The proof of that was her shock when Bruce had officially announced his and Elle's engagement at the party; that and the flash of temper he had seen cross her face before she had managed to school her features. The two of them had chatted for a few minutes more while Elle had danced with Tim, and, all of a sudden, Babs was warning him about rebound relationships and telling him to use caution; that she thought that maybe he was moving too fast.

_No_, he thought. She wouldn't understand what he was going through right now. He had had no desire to explain the bond to her then, and he certainly wasn't going to do so now.

Bruce? Bruce would understand, but he didn't want to pull Batman away from this operation, too. Dick would take care of it. He would find Elle, and when she was safe, then he would explain himself.

. . . _If_ Bruce would talk to him again after tonight.

_Gah_! He didn't need this . . .

"Just deal with it, Babs," he sighed. "I'm busy."

"Really," she snapped, angrily. "It had better be something important to bail on him like this!"

Terror, worry, guilt, anger all suddenly flared, and he lost it. "**_Yes, Goddamn it_! _It's fucking important_!** When have I ever bailed on _anything _for something that _wasn't_ life and death important?!"

There was a momentary pause where Dick figured she was collecting her jaw off of the floor.

"Whoa! Oookay . . . Maybe you'd better explain," she said, this time her irritation was replaced by caution.

But he wasn't taking it. "Why the hell do I have to explain anything to you?! Since when do you get to determine whether or not my emergencies are serious enough to take priority?!"

"Dick, I . . ."

But Dick cut her off. "No! You and I? We're over! Isn't that what you said to me?"

"Hang on a minute . . ." she tried to interject again.

"Yeah, well, I get it now. You no longer have the right to judge what is life and death important in my life, Barbara! And honestly, you never did," he snarled across the comlink. "You know what? I don't care anymore. Fuck you, Oracle! You can tell B whatever you want. I've got more important things to deal with right now!"

"Dick, wait! Where are y- "

"Transmission over," he growled.

Revving the motor, he took it up another notch; swerving around vehicles in the night at breakneck speeds that would raise the hair on the back of even the Batman's neck. Dick tried again to focus on Elle's emotions . . . On her _presence_ . . . On _**anything**_! But nothingness greeted him.

Was she unconscious? Was she . . . dead? If that were the case, if he were too late, he thought smearing himself over two miles of asphalt would be preferable.

* * *

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	88. 911, What's Your Emergency?

**TWO-FER ALERT! You're welcome! ;D**

**WARNING: Strong Language . . .**

* * *

Oracle stared at the screens in front of her, unseeing.

She had never heard Dick so out of control before . . . His language! She had heard him angry enough times to know that he could strip the skin off of someone with just his tongue alone, but it felt a lot different to be on the receiving end of it this time.

It had taken her a while, but she had finally gotten it. Something was horribly wrong! Honestly, she should have realized it immediately. Dick took his night work very seriously, and he would never bail on something as dangerous and important as tonight's operation was unless something came up that took precedence over it. He would never leave Bruce hanging like this unless . . .

Life and death. He had used that term twice to describe it.

Babs frowned. It sounded like something more than mere 'life or death' . . . It had sounded personal as well. She wondered . . .

Shaking it off, she knew the Bruce would have to know. Maybe Tim could contact the Titans. Would they be able to get here on time to help with the smuggling ring bust? Only one way to find out.

"Batman, where are you now?"

He answered immediately. "Last minute adjustments to the plan, Oracle. Have you heard from Nightwing yet? I need him here in time to go over these changes before this thing goes down. He's late."

"I just heard from him," she said, sighing. "He's not coming. Something else came up."

There was the slightest pause before Batman's voice came back through the com. "More important?"

"Apparently," she said, dryly. But there was worry there, too. "I'm thinking that maybe he's in trouble."

"Why do you say that?"

No hesitation; no pause. The question had been snapped out like rifle fire, and she knew she had the Bat's full attention. Why they pretended to be so cool and emotionless in regards to one another, she never understood. Nothing ever got between Bruce and Dick unless it was their own stubbornness.

"It's just . . . I've never heard him like this before."

"What do you mean, 'like this'?" Batman came back.

Babs took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. "He was . . . upset. He swore at me. He said it was life and death important; told me to 'fuck off' and said he didn't care what I told you."

There was the pause. "You're right. That doesn't sound like Nightwing. Can you get a fix on him?"

Oracle had already anticipated his request. "I have him on highway heading back to Bludhaven. He must have been almost to Gotham before deciding to turn around. Good God, he's flying . . . Wait a minute while I hack into the traffic cams.

"Oh my God!" The lights were farther apart on the highway, and no sooner did she register Nightwing on the camera, he was gone again – Disappeared into the darkness between the occasional oases of artificial lighting. "He's going like a bat out of hell! Holy shit! That semi almost clipped him!"

Batman cut in. "Check the police scanners in Bludhaven. See if you can hear anything that might explain what has him driving so recklessly."

"Right," she muttered, forcing her eyes from the terrifying sight of Dick driving like a maniac and onto the keyboard. She could do this blindfolded, but needed something to distract her from the video feed. She really, really didn't want to watch Dick wipeout on the road going that speed.

"Do you want me to contact Red Robin to fill in for Nightwing," she offered.

"Actually," Batman's voice rumbled, "I want you to contact Red Robin to fill in for me."

"You?" Babs' fingers fumbled on the keys. "You're pulling out of the operation, too?"

"See if Red Robin can pull in some of his teammates with the Titans as back up. Your father can lead the sting from his position with the GPD. He knows all the details, including the changes."

"But they don't know what is going on . . ." Babs worried.

Batman remained firm. "I trust Tim and your father to handle the smuggling ring. All the groundwork and preparations have already been done. All that's left is the clean-up."

"Easier said than done," she muttered under her breath. Louder, "So, you're going to Bludhaven, then."

"I think you're right. Nightwing's in trouble. He might need his own back up."

"Right, then. I'll get back to you," she said before cutting transmission.

In the quiet of the clock tower, Babs sighed. "Thank you," she whispered, relieved.

* * *

Batman watched the dot that represented his son as it flew across his GPS screen almost faster than the computer could keep up with it. Barbara hadn't been exaggerating when she had complained of Nightwing's speed.

What would make him risk his life this recklessly? Before he could answer the question, Oracle came back on the line.

"Batman, Red Robin's on it. He's bringing in Superboy and Wonder Girl. Both of them are fast enough to get here in time and strong enough to make a difference. They know how important this is. Dad's been apprised," she reported.

"Good," he rumbled. "And what about the situation in Bludhaven? What have you found out?"

"Actually, that's interesting," she murmured. "I've heard Dick's name being bandied about on police channels in relation to a number of 911 calls that came in approximately fifty minutes ago."

"_Dick's name_? You mean, Nightwing," he said.

"No, I mean _Richard Grayson_, as in the police officer for the BPD," she clarified for him.

"That makes no sense," Batman growled. "Based upon where he is right now, assuming he was driving the speed limit while on his way here, he would have been halfway to Gotham City fifty minutes ago. How would he be involved in a 911 call in Bludhaven at the same time?"

Oracle continued. "From what I gathered, the local police department sent a cruiser to his apartment looking for him. He wasn't there, of course, and it is being called back because they were able to finally get ahold of him on his cell."

"I want to hear those 911 calls," he ordered. He pressed on the gas pedal, edging the Batmobile to greater speeds.

He would never be able to catch up with Nightwing at the speed he was going, but luckily, the younger man had apparently been nearing Gotham before the call came through that turned him around. If he discovered where his son was going, he could arrive close behind him; hopefully in time to assist.

"I have them here." Oracle told him. "Bringing the first one up now."

* * *

**911**: "911. What's your emergency?"

A woman's voice spoke. It was naught but a whisper, but even so, you could easily hear the fear and pain in the ragged, breathless sound.

**Woman**: "Shh . . . He's still here."

Batman's eyes widened. Was that . . .?

**911**: "I can barely hear you, ma'am. Who's there? Is there an intruder in your home?"

**Woman**: "Please . . . send . . . help."

**911**: "What is your address?"

**Woman**: "Shh! He'll hear you . . . I-I can't . . ."

There was a slamming noise heard in the background and a heavy thump. Batman frowned. It sounded like a body falling. And that woman's voice! She sounded a lot like . . .

The sound of heavy boots walking on glass grew louder. There was a rumble as if the handset or cellphone was being shoved across a wooden floor.

**911**: "Officers are on the way, ma'am. Please, stay on the line. Don't hang up the phone."

Batman winced. The 911 operator was speaking too loud. What would the intruder do once he realized that the police were on their way?

**Intruder**: "I apologize for the interruption, sweetheart. What's the matter? Don't tell me you've run out of fight already? Oh baby! You and I, we're just getting started!"

The man's voice sounded distant. As Batman suspected that the rumbling noise had been the woman sliding the phone across the floor; perhaps in an effort to get it out of sight.

A shuffling noise came through in the distance followed by a loud crack.

**Intruder**: "Come on! Show some spirit! You're taking all the fun out of this."

**Woman**: "My fiancée's a cop! If he catches you here, he'll put you down like the dog you are!"

_Oh no_! _No, no_ . . . There was no mistaking that voice now. Batman grimaced. No wonder Dick turned around. He watched the dot swerving from lane to lane of the GPS screen. No wonder he was speeding.

_Way too fast_ . . . _Slow down, Dick, before you kill yourself_!

**Intruder**: "What? You don't think I can take him?"

The man sounded amused. He wasn't worried about interruptions, obviously.

**Elle**: "No contest!"

**Intruder**: "Thanks for the warning, sweetheart . . . cause you see, I'm here for supercop, too." That last was spoken almost too low to hear.

**Elle**: "Nooo . . . Don't . . ." There was real fear in her voice now.

**Intruder**: "Oh yes, I don't know what you did to piss this guy off, baby, but I'm getting paid for _two_ bodies . . . And I was told to make it messy." There is male laughter. "Thanks to you, I'll be as rich as a Spanish Conquistador . . . Or maybe a pirate! What do you think? Would I look good in a beard?"

There was a clacking sound and another thump; scuffling.

**Intruder**: "You fucking little bitch!"

One side of Batman's lips tilted up. Elle was fighting back! Good, good . . . But he was worried. This guy didn't sound like a common street thug. He sounded like a professional. If that was the case, Elle didn't stand a chance. Worse, still, the guy had just announced his endgame.

He check the chronometer. He knew where he was going now, anyway; knew where Dick was headed. He hit turbo and kept to the beltway. There was an exit closer to his destination, and it would be faster and safer than cutting through the city proper. He would try to close the distance between him and Dick while he had the space to do it.

The noises that followed made his gut clench. Thumping noises; thing shattering, falling . . . Elle was being hurt, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. The worst thing about it, however, is that what he was listening to had already happened. If this ended with a gunshot or a gurgle . . .

He thought about the change of clothes he kept in the back of the Batmobile. He could count on one hand the number of times that the world had needed Bruce Wayne rather than his counterpart. Seldom, when he was out as Batman, was he required to change back into civilian attire. But this was Dick Grayson, not Nightwing anymore. Batman might still be needed, but tonight, Bruce was going to be needed more!

The man's voice cut through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to the drama being enacted through the phone lines.

**Intruder**: "What the _fuck_?! . . . You called 911? You little sneak!"

Ah, he found the phone. A thrill of fear shot up Batman's spine as he heard a huge thump and clatter. Elle's startled cry. Loud boots clumping forward; increasing in volume.

He frowned. He thought the intruder had kept the phone, but now realized that he had thrown it instead . . . At _Elle_?

**Intruder**: "Change of plans, baby . . ." A loud thud was followed by the sounds similar to clothing sliding along a wall or the floor.

A minute later the line went dead.

_Change of plans_? The plan had been to kill her, and possibly lay in wait for Dick to come back. But now the police had been alerted.

Hope rose that the hitman hadn't killed Elle yet. It made sense for him to take her somewhere safe for him and use her to lure Dick out into the open where he could take him out at his leisure. He couldn't do that if she were dead.

Then there were the references the hitman had made to the Spanish Conquistador and again to pirates. He didn't think those particular comments had been random. _No_ . . . Those had been his clues!

What did a Spanish Conquistador have in common with one another? Spanish doubloons . . . Gold? What else? Tall sailing ships of old? Or the more modern vessels of today?

* * *

He slowed as his exit came up on his right. Oracle came back as he made the turn he needed to take him to Elle's apartment. He hadn't been here before, but he had looked up the address after meeting her for the first time. Dick had been correct that he would investigate the young woman as soon as he had her name. Any guilt he might have harbored for that vanished as he turned with unerring accuracy towards her home.

"Two more 911 calls came through shortly after this one. Did you want to hear them also?" Barbara asked him.

"Not necessarily. I was able to glean a lot of information from the first one," he told her.

"Was that . . .?" she hesitated, then plunged on. "Was that Dick's girlfriend that made that call?"

The answer pained him. "His fiancée," Batman corrected without heat. "And yes, it was."

"Oh shit." Heard a small thump, and guessed she had dropped her head to the counter. "I really stuck my foot in it this time. No wonder he yelled at me!"

"With luck, you'll have the opportunity to apologize later," Batman told her.

* * *

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	89. Scene of the Crime

**WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

Dick swerved around a number of squad cars to come to a screeching halt in front of Elle's apartment building. Several of the officers present leapt to the side nervously; a couple of their hands sliding to their holsters – just in case. A few of the men there must have recognized him because it wasn't until he barreled into the lobby that he was challenged.

"Hey! Hold up there, buddy," another officer called as he moved to intercept Dick.

"I'm Dick Grayson," Dick announced. "My fiancée was the woman abducted."

The building's super turned and waved to him; walking over to greet the younger man.

"I can vouch for him, officer." Charles Cohen was the kind of superintendent that people loved. Kind, happy, and quick to make repairs and shovel the sidewalk. "He's engaged to Miss Hamilton, and lives upstairs with her. He's one of you; a police officer, I mean."

"Thanks, Mr. Cohen," Dick shook his hand. "What happened here?" Dick's eyes wandered to where a couple of paramedics were helping to fasten a body onto a gurney.

"Our guy apparently strolled through the door around midnight and dispatched the security guard," Officer Hatton supplied, indicating one bullet hole in the wall where it had lodged after passing through the man's body. "Three shots."

"Thomas? Aw, no . . ."

Elle had really liked the man. Dick enjoyed watching the two tease and banter whenever they walked in together and Thomas was on duty. She was going to be so upset when she found out.

Then it hit him in the gut again . . . If she was _alive_ to find out. He had hoped he would get some glimpse into her emotions the closer he came to Bludhaven, but there had been nothing still. And it was killing him; inch by agonizing inch.

His upset must have shown up on his face because Cohen put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Grayson."

"Me, too," Dick struggled to gather his emotions and tuck them back into place. "I'm looking for Detective Campbell."

Hatten indicated the elevator with a tilt of his head. "Upstairs," he said. "He and Detective Chon both."

Dick nodded. That's when he noticed the blood. Several large drops that led through the lobby. His eyes followed the trail to the stairwell, even as he entered the elevator. His heart gave a thump the second the realization hit him that he was looking at Elle's blood.

How much had she lost? He was fairly certain that his theory that she had been alive at the time of her abduction was correct, but how long would she last losing blood? His eyes noted the traces of fingerprint powder on the button to the eleventh floor.

It felt surreal . . . How long had he been doing this; entering and examining crime scenes? Sixteen years? But it had never been _his_ home that had been invaded; _his_ loved one to have been attacked. Oh sure, Joker had shot Babs in her home, but Dick hadn't been around for that. He hadn't been involved with any part of that investigation. Everything had been over with by the time he had come back to Gotham. The aftermath of that had been difficult enough, but this . . .

_This_ was personal . . . And he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with it.

The elevator door opened, that surreal feeling enveloped him, and time . . .

Slowed . . .

. . . Down.

* * *

He seemed numb and at the same time hyperaware of everything; the sound of his boots on the low-pile of the carpet; the sharpness of the colors, the bullet hole in the doorframe of one of their neighbors; something that hadn't been there yesterday evening . . . He noted every little thing about the people standing in the hall, congregating outside of his and Elle's apartment; from what they were wearing to their every distinguishing feature, but sound was distorted and his head felt like it wasn't quite attached to his body as if it were in danger of floating away.

Someone must have called to warn them because a man stepped out of his apartment to meet him. Another police officer moved to intercept him. Dick thought he recognized him . . . Thatcher? A quick glance at his nametag confirmed this.

And suddenly time returned to normal in a crash!

"Grayson?" Thatcher sounded loud as extended his hand. Dick tried not to wince as he took it. "I'm really sorry about this. But don't you worry, man. The BPD take care of their own. We'll find her. I promise you that!"

"Thanks, Thatcher," Dick managed to say. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he wondered if he were experiencing shock. "Elle and I appreciate everything you guys are doing for us."

His words felt like cardboard, and he currently had the emotional range of a stick. While disconcerting, Dick was grateful. Maybe this sudden detachment would allow him to perceive clues and operate with an efficiency that he hadn't been capable of immediately after Campbell had broken the news to him.

Dick eyes moved past Thatcher and met those of the man walking toward him with purpose. He looked vaguely familiar, and Dick suspected that was because he had seen him a time or two at the station. The detectives were housed on a different floor than the grunts. He was just a uniform right now, like Thatcher here.

"Are you Campbell," Dick asked moving around his coworker.

"Officer Grayson," Campbell said. "Dick, isn't it?

"Yes, sir." Dick shook the man's extended hand.

"I'm no sir," Campbell corrected him. "Tell you what. Until this is over, you can call me Nathan." Compassion flashed across the man's face briefly. "I'm sorry, son."

"Don't call me, son," Dick repeated his earlier comment from their phone conversation, but this time without heat.

Campbell seemed to take it as it was intended. He clapped Dick on the shoulder. "Right. Okay, you are probably chomping at the bit to get in there . . ."

It didn't take a detective to figure that out, and Dick made a move to go around the man.

"But," Campbell's hand tightened on his shoulder, holding Dick in place, "Not until forensics is done."

From where he was located, Dick could glimpse the chaos and destruction through the doorway. Broken and overturned furniture . . . Campbell pulled him back a step; moving to place himself in Dick's line of sight.

"I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes, you know, but I can't allow it."

Dick looked at the man. "What can you not allow?"

"You want to help on this case," Campbell stated. "But you are too close to it; too emotionally involved to be effective. You can still help though simply by being available to answer questions and later, if a ransom demand comes."

Dick snorted. "There won't be a ransom demand."

Campbell raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"

But Dick had moved to the side and was staring once again at the wasteland that was their apartment. God! There was so much blood! Was that a bloody handprint on the wall? It was small and Dick knew immediately that it had been left by Elle. It was smeared as if she had tried to catch herself when she fell. The little side table had been their catchall, for mail, wallets, keys . . . It lay in pieces now, and he knew with a sick assurance that Elle's body had been what had broken it.

Above the handprint still hung the photograph of the two of them dancing on the night they had met. It was askew, and the urge to straighten was so strong, that Dick actually took a step in that direction. Campbell's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Dick, I asked you a question."

His attention turned reluctantly back to the detective and he saw the suspicion that had been in his voice at the beginning of their phone call was back.

"You said she dialed 911 . . ."

Campbell nodded. "Yes."

"This . . . bastard!" Dick's emotions were wavering now, threatening to return with a vengeance. He cleared his throat. "Guy . . . This guy, he wasted a lot of time here. He didn't leave until he realized the cops were on the way. He took her to . . ." he choked a bit, ". . . to finish the job . . . elsewhere."

"He could have just killed her and left," Campbell reminded him. "We know he had weapons on him."

"A gun," Dick intoned.

The eyebrow raised. "And a knife. He murdered one of your neighbors when the man came to investigate your fiancée's scream. His body is still inside the apartment."

"But he didn't kill _Elle_ here," Dick insisted. _He didn't kill Elle here . . . There was still a chance; slender though it was, that he hadn't killed her yet_. "He took her instead. Why would he do that?"

"Ransom," Campbell repeated, watching Dick closely.

"No. No ransom," he insisted. There was only one person that Dick could think of who would love to see Elle dead.

"How could you know that?"

"I had time to think on it on the way in. Who would benefit from Elle's death? Who hated her that much? Aiden Hamilton, Elle's brother, would likely dance in the street naked and throw a block party if Elle were murdered." Dick grimaced.

"That's a pretty strong accusation," Campbell noted. "And not completely accurate. There is another who would benefit from your fiancée's demise."

Dick frowned at him. "Who? Her grandparents? There is no way in hell Nonna would ever harm her granddaughter!"

"I was talking about you," Campbell was staring at him like a hawk.

"Me?" Dick goggled at the man. "I would never hurt Elle! And I was halfway to Gotham at the time of the attack."

"Your fiancée's worth a lot of money," Campbell commented. "Look, I think we both know by now that this guy was a professional. He was hired to do a job, so you could have been in Africa on safari and it wouldn't make a difference. And you _did_ get back here pretty quick considering you were just eight miles from Gotham when we spoke."

"I was _speeding_," Dick snapped.

Campbell shrugged. "I'm sorry. Look, it's okay. We already know it wasn't you. The 911 call recorded a bit of conversation and the guy admits that he was hired to kill not just Elle . . . but you, too."

Dick blinked and scowled. "Me?"

"Someone put a hit out on the both of you, supercop."

Dick groaned in exasperation. _Why were they even standing here_?_ Elle was in danger_! _They needed to be out there looking for her, not playing mind games with him_!

"Look, let me go in and see if I can find some clue as to where this guy might have taken her," Dick said.

Campbell sighed. "I'm sorry, Grayson. Really, I am. I understand where you're coming from, but you aren't to get involved any more than you already are. Captain's orders."

"Please, Campbell," Dick found himself begging; the detachment of earlier shattering. "He's going to _kill_ her! I may be her best shot!"

The detective frowned. "Not much faith in the rest of us, eh, Grayson?"

"This isn't about you, Campbell! It's about getting Elle back safe . . ." Dick snapped.

_Oh yeah, no detachment now_. His objectivity was nowhere to be found. But then when it came to Elle his ability to step back and see things at a distance became non-existent. As Nightwing, he might have stood a chance. The mask provided a barrier between him and whatever was happening that allowed him to function in a crisis with greater efficiency. But he was here as Dick Grayson . . . And there was no barrier between him and what threatened to be the greatest emotional upheaval since the death of his parents!

He struggled to keep his perspective professional; to not lose it completely. Elle couldn't afford that and as a result, neither could he.

Campbell stepped into his space. "Don't forget who the detectives are here, officer! Fortunately for you, I realize the kind of stress you are under. I would probably be reacting in much the same way if it were my wife. But the truth is, Grayson, that 911 call names you as one of this guy's targets, and the captain wants you to be remanded into protective custody until we apprehend the killer and can interrogate him about his employer."

"No! No way in hell, Campbell," Dick yelled; stepping back. "I'm _not_ going into protective custody when Elle's life is in danger!"

Detective Chon stepped through the door to the apartment; pulling off his gloves and dropping them into a trash bin set up for that purpose.

"Grayson," he greeted; his hand extended. "You look like shit."

"Chon," Dick shook the other detective's hand warily. "Just as ugly as ever, I see."

Part of him was glad to see the other man; Chon was a good detective – very good, but Campbell had just threatened to lock him up for his own safety, so he was suspicious now of everyone. He had to stay free if he wanted to find Elle.

A smile flickered on the Asian man's face at the familiar insult. "How're you holding up?"

The God's honest truth was that he wasn't. He felt ready to collapse at any moment, but Elle was counting on him. Dick wasn't used to being on this side of the crime tape and he hated it! He had heard victims of home invasions and burglaries talk of the feeling of violation that came with it, but he had never experienced it for himself until now . . .

_It sucked_!

"I'd be doing better if you guys would let me into my apartment," he groused.

Chon grimaced. "Yeah, about that . . . I'm assuming here that Campbell's already told you about the Captain's orders."

Dick took another step back. He became peripherally aware of where all of the other officers were located in the hall. If he needed to run in order to stay free . . .

"Oh, by the way, I came out to tell you that your father has arrived," Chon changed the subject. "He's downstairs."

Dick halted; stunned. "Bruce? He's _here_?!"

"Tell them to let him up," Campbell said. "Maybe _he_ can talk some sense into him"

"Already done," Chon indicated the area behind Dick with a nod. There was a ding and the sound of elevator doors opening.

"Dick?"

Dick spun around at the unmistakable sound of Bruce's voice; flabbergasted at seeing his adopted father exiting the elevator and striding toward him with purpose. His knees wobbled, and he had to slap a hand against the wall for support for a second before he moved to meet him halfway.

Overwhelming relief that the Batman had arrived and the knowledge that everything would now be put to rights; the belief that Elle's chances had improved drastically and he might be able to hold her in his arms again by morning, all of it kept Dick from stopping at a mere handshake.

Bruce was here! Elle would live . . .

Bruce appeared startled when Dick threw his arms around his neck and yanked him into a bear hug.

"Thank God! Thank God, you're here," Dick whispered harshly in his ear.

Dick tried to let go, but couldn't. Not just yet. Whatever surrealism had been left had fled and Dick's emotions crashed around him.

He felt Bruce's arms encircle him; hesitantly at first and then with rib-crushing force.

* * *

Chon watched the reunion standing next to his partner. "He calls his father Bruce?"

Campbell swallowed his surprise. Why he was surprised, however, he didn't know. Hadn't he come up with the theory that Grayson was somehow related to the playboy billionaire of Gotham City? Maybe it was just because the idea had been too farfetched to take seriously, but there it was, right in front of them.

"Hold up! That's Bruce Wayne," Chon gasped a second later, finally recognizing the newcomer. "Grayson's father is _Bruce Wayne_?"

They watched a moment as the two men shared an emotional embrace.

"Sure looks like it from here," Campbell replied, dryly.

"Did you know this about him," Chon asked, still astonished.

"That Grayson's father is a fucking billionaire? Hardly," he snorted. "You know him better than I do."

Chon shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I didn't know _this_," he admitted. "I don't think _anybody_ knew this."

"Makes me feel kind of special, you know?" Campbell commented casually.

Chon glanced at him. "You? How so?"

"Like I've been let in on a big secret," Campbell sighed.

Chon shook his head, smirking. "That's some secret," he said, but then looked back at the men shrewdly. "But somehow I bet there is more to it than that."

It was Campbell's turn to look at his partner. "More secrets?"

Chon waved a hand. "His father is a fucking _billionaire_ and we never knew. Grayson's been on the force for how long? Two years; almost three with nary a hint at something like this. Oh yeah, there's bound to be more behind this. Why keep it a secret?"

Campbell considered this. "He may have just not wanted people treating him differently. They would have, you know. Still will, if word gets out."

"You're thinking we should keep this quiet, then?"

Campbell shrugged. "Wouldn't you want that if you were in his place?"

"So, how do you suggest we keep this under wraps," Chon asked.

There was Thatcher and another officer, plus two members of forensics were still here.

"Just ask," Campbell said.

"Ask? Ask what?"

"For them to keep their mouths shut," Campbell said, nodding in the direction of the other members of the force that were present.

"What about the guys downstairs?"

"Were you given a head's up as to who Grayson's father was?" Campbell asked. "Chances are, no one recognized him yet."

"Huh, worth a shot," Chon murmured; stepping forward to follow Campbell.

* * *

"How'd you know?" Dick asked.

He still clung onto the older man. Bruce wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection, but Dick needed a moment to regain his composure. Bruce showing up right at the very moment Dick needed him most had nearly shredded what little control he still managed to retain.

"Are you all right," Bruce asked him quietly.

"I will be," Dick said, nodding. "I hope so, anyway."

He let go more slowly than he probably should. His legs still felt a little shaky. _Breathe, Grayson. You've got to breathe_.

"So, how did you know," Dick repeated his earlier question.

"When you cancelled, I had Oracle listen in to the police scanners here in Bludhaven," Bruce kept a hand on his son's shoulder. "Dick, I heard the 911 call Elle made . . ."

Dick grimaced; dropping his gaze onto the floor. Bruce was wearing loafers, he noted. Loafers weren't exactly made for snow. "I haven't had a chance to hear it yet."

"You don't need to hear it," Bruce told him. "You don't want to."

Dick wasn't so sure about that, but then a thought crossed his mind. "What about the smug- . . . um, the meeting! I made you miss it?"

"Tim's got it covered." Bruce murmured.

"Tim?"

"He's bringing in backup. No worries." Bruce squeezed his shoulder. He let go then and stepped back, acknowledging the company they were about to have.

Dick ran a sleeve over his eyes. Elle being kidnapped by a hitman was almost too much, but for Batman to turn his operation over to someone else; to allow capes into Gotham just so he could come to Bludhaven in order to help Dick . . .

God! He was a mess!

"Sorry," he muttered, blinking rapidly. "I'm good," he waved Bruce back from where he was hovering.

* * *

"Mr. Wayne, I'm Detective Nathan Campbell. My partner, Harry Chon," Campbell introduced them as he shook the billionaire's hand.

_Impressive_, Campbell thought. _Not the handshake I was expecting from a playboy billionaire_. He noted the manicured nails, but everything else was raw power. The jacket hid his physique well, but there was only so much you could do to hide shoulders that broad. _His arms must be huge_!

Not a wimp, then, Campbell concluded. _Must have an army of personal trainers at his beck and call_. Probably intimidated the hell out of his business adversaries. He felt hawk-like eyes giving him the once over.

"Detectives," Wayne acknowledged them. "I'm sure you are doing everything in your power to locate my future daughter-in-law."

"Yes sir," Campbell replied. "Indeed we are. But I was wondering, since you were here and seem to be a man of reason, if you might willing to aid me."

Grayson narrowed his eyes at the detective suspiciously.

Wayne raised an eyebrow, curious. "Really? I've only just arrived, so I'm not certain how I might be of assistance. What is it you wish?"

"Detective," Grayson growled in warning.

Campbell ignored the implied threat; raising a hand to forestall the younger man's protests. "We've discovered information in our investigation that suggests that your son here is also in danger. The person that attacked and abducted Miss Hamilton admitted that a hit has been placed upon Richard Grayson's head as well."

Wayne frowned and glanced at his son. Concern, but not the kind that Campbell had expected from a loving parent that feared for his child's safety.

Grayson interrupted, pushing in front of his father. "Campbell, I said no! I can look after myself. I refuse to hide while that bastard still has Elle!"

"What good will you do her if you get yourself killed," Chon asked him.

"What makes you think I would want to live if she's dead," Grayson returned angrily. "Better to use my time to search for her!"

Chon was taken aback by Grayson's vehemence, while Campbell turned back to Wayne. "Talk to him, Mr. Wayne! I find myself ready to lock him up in a holding cell in order to save him from himself."

"I have good people who can keep him safe," Wayne said with infuriating calm.

"You must be hell in the boardroom, Wayne," Campbell remarked. "Can they save him from a sniper's bullet?"

"This guy won't hide behind a rifle," Grayson snapped.

"I might be able to pull some favors and bring in someone who specializes in this sort of thing," Wayne said, thoughtfully.

"You mean the FBI," Chon said, nodding.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the Batman," Wayne suggested.

Campbell gaped a little. "You _know_ the Batman?"

"I've met him before; did a favor once on his behalf. I know that Commissioner Gordon can contact him for me. Considering the stakes involved, I think he would prove sympathetic to our cause," Wayne said.

Grayson jumped on the bandwagon. "Good idea, Bruce! Excellent idea! Can you get him here tonight?"

Chon stared at the younger man. "I'd have never pegged you as a fanboy of the Bat, Grayson."

"He can help," Grayson replied.

"You two are serious? Wait just a damned minute! I'm not willing to take a backseat to some crazy who prowls the night dressed like a bat," Campbell growled. "In case you weren't aware, Grayson, vigilantism is illegal in Bludhaven."

"So is murder and kidnapping," Grayson snarled back. "But it doesn't seem to stop it from happening. This my fiancée's life we're talking about here! Sorry about your ego, Campbell, but Elle is my priority. Call him, Bruce. Call him now!"

"The captain won't take kindly to your calling in the Batman," Chon warned.

"Ask me if I care," Grayson growled.

Wayne laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "Dick, take it easy. Come with me. Leave the detectives to do their job. The more eyes looking for Elle, the better."

Dick turned to follow Bruce back to the elevator.

"Keep him off the streets, Mr. Wayne," Campbell warned.

Wayne paused to look back. "I'll do what I can, Detective, but truth be told, I trust him to look after himself."

Chon looked a little skeptical. "Against a professional hitman?"

"If this hitman likes to play up close, like my son suggested, then he's more than capable of holding his own," Wayne told them.

"Personally, I'm beginning to believe you are both crazy. Tell the Batman to stay the hell out of our way," Campbell called after them. "I'd hate to have to arrest him for interfering with an ongoing police investigation."

The detectives watched as the elevator doors closed behind them.

Chon snorted. "You really think Batman would allow you to arrest him?"

Campbell ignored the jab. "'The Batman may prove sympathetic to our cause'," Campbell parroted. "Who the hell talks like that?"

* * *

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**What are your thoughts? Any new theories about who hired the hitman? There are clues both in these chapters and in other places within the story. The actual name of the person has never been mentioned as you haven't met the person yet. But that shouldn't stop the detective in you from figuring it out if you're truly intrigued enough. Otherwise, you'll just have to wait with the rest of us . . . **


	90. Games

**Don't miss chapter 89, if you haven't read it yet. I'm posting these close together so you may only get one alert. Could be a Two-fer on the 14th.**

**WARNINGS: VERY STRONG LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE . . .**

* * *

"They're not going to be happy with you at the precinct," Bruce commented the minute the doors closed.

"Ask me if I care," Dick grimaced. He slumped against the back of the elevator; rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Are you all right," Bruce asked again now that they were private.

Dick didn't answer because, at this moment, he didn't know. He watched the numbers light up as they descended rather than look over at Bruce.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. He saw Bruce's startled expression as the older man glanced at him, but Dick kept his face carefully ahead. "For dragging you away from Gotham tonight. I know that was a pretty big operation, and you were depending upon me and all . . ."

"Dick."

Against his better judgment, he looked over at the man he had thought of as his father for the past fifteen years or so.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," Bruce ordered.

The corner of Dick's mouth ticked up slightly, and he blinked rapidly as he returned to the elevator's overhead display.

"We'll head to the car and change," Bruce spoke softly. Elevators often had cameras these days. He spoke without moving his lips.

"Right," Dick said as the doors opened.

As they made their way out, Dick's eyes were drawn again to the drops of blood that marked the path the hitman had taken when he had left with Elle. All that blood . . . Each drop precious because it was so hard to replace.

When they finally made it to where Bruce had parked the Batmobile, Dick began to change; his Nightwing costume being beneath his clothing. Bruce stopped him.

"You know, your captain had a point. As Nightwing, this guy wouldn't be able to find you," Bruce told him.

Dick scowled. "I'm not hiding. We may have a better chance of finding him if he can find me first."

"Then you'll need to stay in your civvies," Bruce told him. "This concerns Dick Grayson . . ."

Bruce finished changing in record time. The cold weather might have helped. So far the skies were clear, but the wind was supposed to be blowing in an artic front down from Canada. Snow by morning wouldn't be a surprise. Much of the snow had melted from the last snowfall, but not all of it.

"You have another way to enter your apartment," Bruce asked.

"Most often I scale the wall and enter through the kitchen window," Dick told him. "Elle always keeps it unlocked for me." He looked critically at the larger man. "It may be a tight squeeze for you," he warned.

Bruce checked his chronometer. "They should be finishing up now. I'll give you a lift to the roof and we'll take a look around the apartment for any clues. Will they leave a cop stationed behind, do you think, or just seal it up with police tape?"

"I doubt they'd waste the manpower, especially since I left with you," Dick said. "We're too shorthanded as it is."

Bruce pulled down his cowl and stepped over to his son. "Grab hold," he instructed as he aimed his grapnel gun.

Before he could move, Dick's cell buzzed. "Hold up. It's after two in the morning. Who'd be calling me now?" A quick glance deepened the frown on his face. "Unknown caller."

Dick pressed speaker and set the phone on the hood of the Batmobile. "Grayson here."

"You should know who I am by now," a gruff male voice came through.

"Your name? So sorry . . . Would you care to enlighten me," Dick answered.

His heart started pounding, and he threw a glance up at Batman who was quietly contacting Oracle to trace the call.

"I'll introduce myself when we meet in person," the man said. "Don't bother tracing me. I'm going to tell you my exact location, but you need to take it off of speaker for that. This is a private party."

"Sounds like a trap to me. Why should I come?"

He could hear the guy's smile when he spoke again. "Because, supercop, you aren't the only guest of honor in attendance tonight."

"Elle?! She's still alive?" Dick dove for the phone.

"She is, but won't be for long," the hitman admitted. "But I find myself a sentimental guy tonight. I thought it might be nice if the two of you had the chance to bid one another one last good night. Sort of like Romeo and that Juliet chick."

Dick gritted his teeth. "I prefer happily-ever-afters to tragedies. Why should I show up when I know you plan to just kill us both?"

"Because I won't give her the satisfaction of death until you arrive," was his come-back.

"Not convincing me . . ." Dick told him.

"No? Well then, let's see what I can do about that." Those words were followed by the muted sound of him setting the phone down. When he spoke again, his voice was farther away.

"How's about you convincing supercop to join us, eh, darling?"

A short pause and then the distinctive sound of fist meeting flesh. A feminine grunt sounded, followed by silence. When Dick was about to yell, Batman placed a glove hand over his mouth.

A loud sigh. "I can see that neither of you wish to be accommodating."

Batman signaled to get in the car. He had the location . . . If they hurried, maybe they could arrive before the guy expected them. Dick nodded, but before he can move a gunshot rang out over the phone so loudly it echoed off the buildings around them.

Dick yelled, "_**Elle**_! _**NO**_!"

Batman's hands were suddenly around him as Dick realized his knees had given out in his shock.

"No! Dick, no," Elle's voice can be heard now. "He didn't . . . He missed . . ."

Dick would have sank to the ground by now. Only Batman kept him upright.

"_This_ time," the hitman was back, "And now that I have your attention . . ."

A sharp pop sounded, and Elle screamed. Pain-filled sobs could be heard in the background.

"We're going to play a game," he finished.

"_**Elle**_!" Dick was back on his feet, clutching his cell. "You fucking _bastard_," he yelled. ""_No games_! Stop it! Just stop . . . Tell me where the hell it is you want me to go!"

"I'm sure you already know the general area, but the night is passing quickly and my patience is wearing thin. There are two hundred and six bones in the human body. I shall break one of hers every five minutes until you get here."

"_No_! Don't hurt her anymore," Dick begged him. "I'll be there. _Just tell me where the fuck to go_!"

The man kept talking as if Dick hadn't interrupted him. "I suggest you hurry because I won't stop until I see you. I can assure you that your fiancée will be begging for my bullet by the time you arrive. Call me when you reach the North-West parking lot of Astor Park."

"No, Dick, don't," Elle cried out. "He wants to kill us both! Stay away!" A ringing slap cut her off.

"Better run," he said. "Every five minutes; starting now."

Elle's weeping was extinguished when the call ended abruptly.

Dick clutched his phone and turned to Bruce. "Promise me . . . You'll save her. Don't let her die!"

* * *

The Batmobile tore out of the alley a couple of seconds later; tires squealing. GPS showed them the fastest route to the park. Luckily, the streets were fairly deserted at this time of night and Batman blew through every red light they came to.

"If . . . If she doesn't make it," Dick swallowed. He stared out of the windshield in front of him. He couldn't look at Bruce when he said this. "I'm going to kill him."

He felt eyes glance his way. They were going too fast for more than that. "I've never heard you take a defeatist attitude before."

"Not defeatist," Dick corrected. "Realist. Somebody isn't walking out of that park tonight. Out of the three of us; that piece of shit, Elle, or me . . . If it isn't Elle that's doing the walking; it won't be any of us."

"Dick . . . I can't let you kill him. You know that." It was Bruce's voice that spoke softly; not Batman's.

"No, Bruce!" Dick's hand sliced the air in front of him. "Don't talk to me about respecting life, not when I know what that son of a bitch is doing to her; _will_ do to her. But I guarantee you that I will get the name of his employer out of him before . . . before. I need you to promise me that you will get him, or her, or whoever the hell this is."

He glanced over to see Bruce nod once. One tiny knot in the mess that was his gut unraveled.

"I'll get him," he promised. "But I won't kill him for you. If you want this mystery person to die, then you'll have to live in order to do the deed yourself."

Dick's mouth curved up into a slight smile. "Nice try," he told him. He appreciated the attempt.

"Don't go into this thinking that you're going to die or you will," Batman warned. "You owe Elle your best game. Don't short her by writing yourself off before we even get there."

Whatever Dick was going to say was interrupted by his cell phone buzzing. He jumped in spite of himself, staring at his phone like it was a serpent.

Batman slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "We're still nine minutes out. _Damn it_!"

Batman pressed the accelerator to the floor, but they were already driving recklessly as it was. If they managed to total the Batmobile, he harbored no illusions that the guy would stop his countdown just because they'd be forced to walk the rest of the way.

Dick swallowed. "If I don't pick up, do you think he would still go through with it?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Dick picked up on the third ring. "You sick fuck . . . You knew how long it was going to take me to get there," he snarled into the phone.

"Hang up, Dick! Don't do this," Elle was yelling. "Please, just hang up!"

She was trying to be brave. Dick could still hear the pain, the fear, and tears despite how hard she was trying to suppress them.

"Aren't you the brave one, sweetums," her assailant was saying to her. "Haven't you heard that shared pain is halved?"

"Stop hurting her! I'm coming," Dick shouted into the phone. "You couldn't stop me if you tried!"

It was obvious that the man on the other side of the phone wasn't listening.

"I want your screams, darling Arabella. When you hold back, you spoil my fun, and force me to have to hurt you more to get what I want."

Elle snarled at him. "Go to hell!"

"Just remember, it was your choice," he said.

It wasn't a pop this time, but a solid 'whump' that was heard. Elle cried out, but it was soft and breathless, and followed up by weak coughs.

"Hm, that wasn't much, but I'll cut you some slack as I felt at least two ribs go with that kick. It's hard to scream without air in your lungs, eh, my darling?" He returned to the phone. "You have another five minutes."

The call ended.

Dick punched the dash. "Can't we go any faster?"

"Not without doing his job for him," Batman's growl was gruffer than usual. "ETA seven minutes."

"I'm going to kill him," Dick gritted out. "I'm going to rip that bastard's heart out of his chest with my bare hands."

"Dick . . ."

"Shut up, Bruce," Dick growled. "You're not going to talk me out of it. You'll have to take me down to stop me."

"He doesn't know about me," Batman reminded him. "We have the upper hand here going in. We can . . ."

"Do we? We can . . . What, Bruce? Listen as he snaps Elle's bones? He's torturing her," Dick yelled at him. "And he's fucking enjoying it!"

There was a moment of silence; the atmosphere in the vehicle was strained, tense with suppressed emotions. Something or someone was going to snap soon . . . Batman just hoped it wasn't his son.

* * *

"Oracle," Batman's voice was soft, calm though he felt anything but.

"Here," she spoke through the car's speakers; her voice sounded choked even on that one word.

"Where Red Robin?"

"In route to Astor Park. He's in the Batcopter. ETA fourteen minutes," she intoned.

Dick stared at the dash. "The smuggling operation?"

"Dad's got it covered. Superboy and Wonder Girl are providing all the backup necessary. They should have it wrapped up in a few. Oh, and Dad says, 'good luck'." Oracle told them.

Batman hummed. "The Batcopter . . . Good choice."

It was capable of carrying the lot of them. Important, considering that Elle would likely be in dire need of medical care.

"Robin is with him," she informed them. "He insisted."

Dick frowned. "How did you . . .? You've been listening?"

She sounded mildly apologetic. "Ever since Batman asked me to trace the call . . . I'm sorry, Dick. They'll help you get her out of this. I know you'll save her."

"Oracle," Batman interrupted. "Connect Red Robin, but maintain radio silence."

"Already done," Tim's voice came through next. "Radio silence; check. Nothing to give away our hand early."

"Stay alert," Batman warned. "I want you to know his location the moment he gives it."

Dick's phone buzzed and all talking stopped.

"God damn you to hell . . ." he said, answering.

A soft, choked, gasping was heard; tiny breaths because breathing normally hurt. There was a low, keening moan . . .

"Hm, what next? Ah, I know just the thing," the man said, cheerfully. His voice dropped low and dangerous in the next second. "What do you think a pistol butt will do to a cheekbone? Let's find out, shall we?"

"Fuck . . ." he whispered. A lone tear slid down Dick face. He scrubbed it off angrily.

The crack of the pistol against flesh and bone was obscenely loud. No scream or crying was heard, however. The silence tore at his heart just as much as the sound of Elle's tears had.

"Elle?" Dick's voice wavered uncertainly. Had the bastard killed her by accident? "Elle?"

The hitman grunted. "She was never an accommodating victim . . . Ah, merely unconscious."

Dick covered his eyes with his free hand. After a moment, it slid down to cover his mouth. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet.

"Now, listen very carefully, cop. You will do exactly as I say and I'll make this quick for the both of you. Fuck around and I will make this last a week for her. I can get very creative with a knife and a cattle prod."

The Batmobile pulled into the parking lot and slid to a stop.

"I'm here! I'm here! I just pulled into the parking lot," Dick yelled into the phone; throwing open the door and stumbling out. "Where the fuck do you want me to go now?"

"You made good time," the man commented. "And here I was thinking that you weren't taking this seriously."

"Where are you? Tell me what the hell do you want now?" Batman came around the side of the car and silently put his hand on Dick's shoulder, reminding him to keep it together.

"All business now, are we? Good. Now, leave your weapon behind and walk up the nature trail. Keep your phone on you. I'll tell you when to stop."

"I'll want to see her when I get there," Dick demanded.

"Oh dear," he sounded almost regretful. "I'm afraid that ship has already sailed."

"_No_!" Dick snarled. "I want to _see_ her!"

Anger flared in the man's voice. "_You_ don't make the demands, supercop! What? Are you anxious to play another game with me? Your girlfriend doesn't look nearly so enthusiastic."

Dick was already running up the path. "_**No more games**_!"

"Then you do exactly as I say or I will shoot her in the stomach as see how long it takes her to bleed out! What do you think, cop? Fun times ahead or not?"

"You sick fuck!" he growled.

"Not yet," he replied. "But I'm sure I can arrange something suitably 'sick'. I might even let you watch."

"I'm going to end you," Dick promised.

"Better men than you have tried." The call ended.

* * *

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	91. Astor Park

**WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE . . .**

* * *

Batman was pacing him on the path when he grabbed Dick's arm and pulled him to a stop.

Dick jerked his arm away. "What the hell . . .?"

"Get control of yourself," Batman hissed at him, keeping his voice down. "Your emotions are going to get you killed, and Elle with you!"

"Didn't you hear him? What he's going to do to her?"

"I heard," Batman said grimly. "But I don't think he's going to do it. At least not yet. He's getting inside your head. Think, Dick! You didn't hear that second gunshot . . . That sound would travel in a park. He's bluffing!"

"Promise me . . ." Dick clutched a handful of cape and leaned close.

"I think I've made enough promises," Batman told him. He didn't want to hear what other demands Dick had in store for him.

"If I'm injured and she dies," Dick stared into those white lenses. "You have to let me die, too."

Batman pulled back, but Dick held on. "You can't ask me that . . ."

"I _am_ asking you that. If _she_ goes; _I_ go," Dick snarled.

"Dick, the bond isn't equal," he reminded him. "Elle can't live without you, but you could survive her!"

Dick let go; pushing the older man away. He was perfectly aware of what he was asking, and of whom he was asking it. "If she goes . . . I go, Bruce," he whispered.

"Those weeks without her were some of the worst I've ever gone through," Dick swallowed. "How much worse would it be if she were dead?" He shook his head as he backed up the path. "I don't want to go through that. I can't go through that . . . And for what? She'll be gone. Promise me!"

Batman's jaw tightened as he shoved an extra comlink at him. "It won't come to that. Keep in touch. Now go!"

Dick was already gone; running flat out as Batman disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

"Oracle."

"I'm here," Babs' voice said in his ear.

"I need the layout of Astor Park. Northwest nature trail," he said as he made his way through the trees.

He was thinking that Dick had already accepted his own death; and this was the precursor of the actual event. He knew his son wanted desperately to save Elle, but believed the man they were dealing with wouldn't keep his end of the bargain; that he would kill the girl before Dick could get there.

Batman knew his only chance for pulling everyone out of this alive was by finding and reaching the hitman first. To do that, he needed to see where the best place on this path was to ambush Dick.

"Here it is," Oracle's voice cut into his thoughts. "Did you get it? I highlighted the trail for you."

A holographic image of the park appeared on his lenses. He scrolled in closer to his objective. He saw the trail and could see the topography of the land on either side of it. There was a deep ravine that followed the trail on the left and a wooded ridge on the right that flattened out into a large field farther on. There the trail crossed with another path that spanned the ravine with some kind of bridge.

The highest point of the ridge was about a mile in, and just a couple of hundred yards from the field, and within visual distance of the bridge. Only well-established foliage was marked, but there was a copse of trees there that made the ridge the perfect point for an ambush or for a sniper to catch an unsuspecting passerby off guard.

Of course, Dick was hardly unsuspecting . . . He could also run a four minute mile without breaking a sweat. If he pushed himself, Dick might arrive before the hitman realized he was there and catch this psychopath unaware.

But if Batman wanted to prevent Dick from doing something that he would forever regret, he needed to get to the man first. He could do that by cutting through the woods to open terrain and shaving off at least a minute of Dick's time. Batman shoved through the last of the trees; pushing branches out of his way in his quest for open ground. His path was a straight forward shot to their target rather than the longer, meandering path that Dick was taking.

Switching to a private channel, Batman contacted Oracle again.

"Here," she answered immediately.

"What's Red Robin's ETA?"

"Eight minutes," she told him.

"Cutting it close," he murmured. "Have him set down in the field near the bridge in ten minutes. Use stealth mode to cut down the noise, but to stay back until we've had a chance to engage. We don't want this guy to hear the Batcopter before we reach him."

"You could have contacted him yourself on the other channel," she reminded him. "What's up that you don't want Dick to hear?"

"Tim may have to run interference. Dick's not thinking clearly."

"Agreed. He's definitely not himself."

"I'm afraid of what he might do if this guy decides to kill her before we get there," Batman admitted reluctantly.

"Can you blame him," Oracle asked.

He couldn't blame him, but he didn't want to be forced to have to stop him either.

* * *

Batman ran flat out; pushing himself harder than ever before. He only slowed when he approached the hillside he wanted. This ridge overlooked the trail and from his angle, Batman could see the larger clearing ahead where he hope Red Robin would be landing the Batcopter in a few more minutes. The hitman was in that copse of trees, hidden, and lying in wait for Dick to arrive.

Which would be at any second.

Several of these trees were old growth, saved when the park was created. Using his grapnel gun, Batman shot a line into the higher branches. He would take the high road, using the branches and whatever foliage might be left for cover. The sliver of moon from earlier had disappeared behind the heavy snow clouds that was pushing down from the north.

He turned on his night vision that was built into his cowl. The dense shadows were brought to life. He made his way from branch to branch as quietly as possible. The wind and rustling of fallen leaves not covered by snow masked any sound he made.

A rapid staccato of footsteps could be heard approaching. Not loud, but certainly not made by someone who sought to be stealthy. He had no doubt that the killer was aware of Dick's advance.

_What was he doing_? _Did Dick __**want**__ to be shot_?

There! Movement caught his eye as the hitman raised his rifle in preparation for Dick's arrival.

Batman pulled three mini batarangs and flung them simultaneously; hitting the man's hand, forearm, and shoulder. The shot rang out, but the bullet went wide off the mark and struck a tree a mere foot from Dick's head. Dick flinched at the exploding bark, even as he tucked and rolled. When he came to his feet, he was off, heading straight for the spot where he spotted the flash. Only to have to duck when Batman and Elle's kidnapper burst out of the trees; grappling with one another. They landed with a solid whump on the trail behind him.

_CRACK!_

Batman's armored glove made vicious contact with the man's jaw!

"_Find her_!" Batman barked the order as he blocked his opponent's blow.

* * *

Dick turned and scrambled up the incline. He couldn't see a damned thing! He reached beneath his clothing and located a small flashlight, but even as the beam cut into the shadows, Dick could tell it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Elle!" He found the rifle where the killer had been hiding, but a quick search of the area produced no sign of Arabella Hamilton. "_Elle_!"

Wind from a chopper's blades whipped the branches and its search lights created more pockets of shadows than it exposed.

"Elle, where are you?" He yelled to be heard over the sound of the Batcopter landing.

He couldn't see her, and the noise from the Batcopter was enough that he didn't think he could hear her either. He expanded his search, but after a few more minutes, he became convinced that she wasn't there.

He leapt off of the ridge, flipping twice to slow his momentum, and landed a few feet away. Batman was zip-tying the killer's hands behind is back.

The guy looked over at Dick and cursed. "Are you fucking kidding me? You called in the Batman?"

Dick ignored his taunts. The only words he was interested in hearing was Elle's location. He shoved Batman out of his way and straddled the man. He took in all the facts about his appearance subconsciously; the blond hair cut in a businessman's style, his need for a shave, a broken nose. He had light eyes, but in the dark Dick couldn't make out the color. He was a big man; closer to Batman's height and build than Dick's. The idea that this savage had brutalized Elle made his temper flash red hot!

He dragged the man up by his collar and shook him.

"_**Where is she?!**_" He roared in his face.

The hitman narrowed his eyes and spit in Dick's face. Dick ignored the blood and spittle. He slammed the man into the ground, earning a grunt, and began punching him in the face repeatedly; three, four, five times!

"Where is she?!" Dick didn't give the guy the opportunity to answer before he hit him again. "You better pray to God that she's still alive!"

The hitman spit out blood and a tooth, and grinned at him. "Why the hell should I tell you?"

Dick leaned into his face and snarled. "So you don't spend the rest of your short, pathetic life being fed through a tube!"

The man stared up at him, slowly his grin faded and he closed his lips. The determination on his face told them he had no intention of telling them anything.

Dick screamed, and slammed him into the ground once more. He shifted until he was resting one knee on the man's chest as he began punching him over and over.

"What's the matter," he asked him in a growl. "Hard to breathe with someone sitting on your chest?"

Batman grabbed Dick under his arms and dragged him back off of the man.

"Enough! He won't be able to answer you if he's dead! Elle needs you," he reminded his son.

They turned at the sound of approaching running feet. Out of the darkness emerged Red Robin and Robin.

"I heard that Hamilton needed help," Robin said. "Red Robin's only good for piloting. Although I could have managed it without him," he added the last in a mumble. It still earned him a shove from his brother nonetheless.

"Only if someone strapped blocks to your feet," Red Robin snorted. "You couldn't reach the foot pedals, brat."

Ignoring the insults being hurled, Batman began issuing orders. "We need to split up and search the area. He wouldn't have had time to leave her far from here. He would have wanted her close in case he still needed to use her as leverage against Dick."

"I can't believe you let someone steal your girlfriend, Grayson," Robin grumbled.

Red Robin gave him another shove, harder this time, as both he and Batman snapped at him, "Shut up, Robin!"

Dick didn't bother correcting the boy. In his mind, Damian was right. _Just one more night!_ That was all she had asked of him; to stay with her one more night! If he had only said yes, this night would have ended so differently.

"I'm going to check the ravine," he announced, hoarsely; scrambling down the embankment.

"I'll head back to the bridge," Red Robin told them, "and start in the ravine there and work my way back. I'll meet Dick in the middle."

Batman glanced at the man at his feet. He wasn't going anywhere for a while.

"Robin, you search wooded area on the ridge," Batman instructed, indicating the area toward the field. "I'll start back in this direction," he said, pointing to the tree line that followed the trail back in the direction of the parking lot.

* * *

The ravine was grown up a lot in the area that Dick searched. The embankment was steep in places and then would slope more gently. At the bottom was a small stream with water only mid-calf in depth in places and merely a rock-filled ripple a few inches in others.

He could hear the voices of his family calling for Elle. The silence that answered each cry seemed to destroy yet another small bit of his soul. He was within a few dozen yards of her, he knew it in his gut, but he couldn't see her.

Pausing, he tried again to reach out to her. They were close enough now, but Elle was obviously unconscious. He refused to believe otherwise. But shouldn't he be able to locate her despite that? He remembered Cedric telling him that as the bond grew, they would be able to feel one another no matter how many miles separated them; that eventually they could even track one another anywhere in the world by the bond alone.

Nothing . . . He could sense nothing. But she wasn't dead. He knew this; was sure of it now. Wherever she was, she was still alive.

It was so cold . . . Elle didn't like the cold, despite enjoying the snow. She would be susceptible to the wind chill. If he left her anywhere, and she had been awake and capable, Elle would have moved out of the wind. She might have even pulled leaves over her; protecting her from the cold, but making it that much harder to find her.

He tapped his comlink.

"She might have hidden herself under the leaves in order to protect herself from the cold," he informed the others.

"Right," Red Robin acknowledged.

Neither Damian nor Bruce said anything, but he knew they would have heard him and would be careful to search thoroughly.

He could see Tim's flashlight searching the area ahead of him. They were closing in on each other and still had yet to locate Elle. Were they searching in the wrong place? The ravine was less overgrown up ahead. Dick's heart sank with the knowledge that he was no closer to finding her than he was when he arrived here.

Tim's flashlight stopped moving in a sweeping pattern. It was focused onto one area near the water. Dick's heart started pounding. He hit his comlink.

"Red Robin, Did you find her?"

"I don't know," his voice came back to him. "Hang on. I see something, but I don't know what yet."

Dick started toward him, moving as fast as the overgrowth allowed when his yell sounded out.

"_I found her_! _She's here_!"

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Yeah, I know . . . Cliffhanger - again. But I will try to get you the next chapter by tomorrow evening. Don't hate me - Elle's a lot tougher than she looks, and a lot tougher than she, herself, realizes. **

**I know most of you that like this story prefer the lighthearted, fun, and romantic chapters more, but I promise there is more - MUCH MORE - of that to come! So, don't hate me . . . You can't be involved in this family without danger happening every so often. It lasts so long because I am wordy and descriptive. Hopefully, that is something you like about me. **

**As always, please Review and Fave if you are enjoying the story! ;D**


	92. Murphy's Law

**Sorry for the delay . . . Work was crazy, and as a result my sleep schedule was heavily disrupted. If you hadn't heard by now, I can't write when I am tired. Seriously - it sucks! I had only needed to do some editing yesterday, but even copying the changes that I had already made was too much for my poor, sleep-deprived, overworked brain. Anyway, here it is . . . I hope it is worth the wait! **

**WARNINGS: VERY STRONG LANGUAGE, SOME VIOLENCE, and GRAPHIC IMAGES . . . (If you cannot read the sight of blood, you may want to rethink this one.)**

* * *

"I found her!"

In the excitement of his discovery Tim yelled instead of using his comlink. Dick clawed his way through brambles, its thorns tearing at his jacket and snagging his jeans; his hands were bleeding by the time he reached the other side. Where was his legendary grace now as he clambered over rocks in his desperation to reach her?

Red Robin was hovering protectively over her, but didn't touch her as he waited for Dick to arrive.

"She's not conscious," he told Dick, worriedly.

"But she's alive?" He had believed this, just moments ago; that she was alive, but not conscious . . . Now, kneeling next to her, he needed the extra reassurance.

Red Robin nodded. "She's breathing," he said. "A bit labored, but that's to be expected if she has broken ribs."

Elle lay on her side, one hand extended out into the water. No wonder it had been so hard to see her lying there. She was half hidden by knee-high, winter grass, and covered in mud and blood; even the still visible bits of her white robe could have been confused with a patch of snow. Dick was suddenly worried about hypothermia. She was out here in nothing but that damned silk robe that only hit her mid-thigh, and as he and Tim slowly rolled her onto her back; he saw that beneath it was just a thin tanktop and matching underwear. She had obviously been dressed for bed when the hitman broken in.

"There's ice in her hair," Tim announced. He grimaced. "And blood," he added, when his hand came away damp and sticky.

Dick felt the injury. It was already clotting, but then Elle healed so quickly and so well, that he wondered about the initial severity of it. His heart had skipped a beat when he had finally pushed back her tangled hair and caught a glimpse of her face. It also was streaked with mud and covered in blood.

Dick tore a strip off of his shirt and soaked it in the icy water; using it to clean off her face enough that he could determine the damage. She flinched away from the cold, but didn't awaken. The damage wasn't as bad as he had guessed. There were cuts that were already scabbed over, and he thought that maybe her nose had been, if not broken, at least bloodied. Most of the blood had come from that particular injury. Mottled bruises along her jawline looked over a day old, but he knew for a fact it had been received over the course of the night.

The worst of it was her fractured cheekbone. It was still swollen and a deep blue-black color. It had been received too recently and was too severe for her amazing healing abilities to have done much for it. He tugged up the edge of her tanktop and glimpsed blue-green mottling that began on her side and extended onto her back. She had rolled away at the point of impact, and likely lessened the potential damage. Her left wrist and pointer finger of that hand were swollen and bruised as well. The wrist, Dick judged to be sprained, but the finger he suspected was broken.

Other than that, she had fading bruises on her arms and legs. Unless there was something hidden, or the head injury was more severe than anticipated, Dick thought she should be all right . . . eventually.

There wasn't a word to describe the relief that flooded his system. She would live!

Now, to get her to wake up . . .

He tapped her face, and lay a portion his wet shirt over the swollen area. Elle moaned this time; turning her head away from the cold cloth.

"Elle? Baby, can you hear me," Dick crooned. "Open your eyes for me."

Eyelashes fluttered and suddenly her eyes popped open in a panic as she remembered the events of the night. Dick caught her wrists as she flailed in an attempt to protect herself. He didn't want her to injure herself further by accident.

"Elle! It's me! It's Dick," he said loudly. "And look, Red Robin, too!"

"Dick?" She blinked; dazed, and struggled to sit up.

"Easy, baby," he cautioned her. "You have broken ribs!"

She shook her head, gasping for breath. "N-Not broken," she whispered. "D-Dislocated, I think."

Red Robin stared at her. "How can you tell?"

"I've had b-broken ribs b-before. This feels d-different," she said, grimacing. "Still hurts, th-though."

"Dislocated ribs are fixable," Dick attempted a reassuring smile for her. He pushed back her hair carefully. "Are you alright?"

"I th-think s-so," her teeth chattering with the cold. Shivering hurt, however, and she groaned. "I-I think . . . s-sooo."

Tears began filling her eyes. As the realization came that she was finally safe, Elle's adrenaline began crashing, and her emotions overwhelmed her. She reached for him, and Dick gathered her gently into his arms. Neither of them had thought they would ever have the chance to hold one another like this again. Dick buried his face into that muddy, bloody, icy mess that was her hair. It still smelled incongruously like shampoo.

Tim turned away to call up to where Bruce and Damian stood at the top of the embankment as the couple clung to each other and quietly "lost" it for a few moments.

Elle pulled away first; her tears creating clean streaks along her cheeks.

"You came!" She slapped at his shoulder with her good hand; weeping. "What w-were you th-thinking? I t-told you not to c-come! He could have k-killed you!"

Dick laughed at her upset; wiping his eyes. "I told you . . . I will _always_ come for you!"

Now she stroked his face. "You d-didn't have to," she told him, seriously. "Y-You could have s-survived it."

Dick's relieved laughter died away. "No," he told her. "No, Elle, I wouldn't have."

"Poppa did," she reminded him.

"Cedric survived because he had you," Dick replied. "If you . . . died." The last word came out as a whisper. "I had no one capable of holding me here. As much as I love my family, I've come to love you so much more."

Elle's breath caught in her throat. Her hand fluttered above her stomach. Dick was immediately solicitous.

"What's the matter," he asked alarmed. "Do you have pain there?" Could she have internal bleeding?

Elle blinked, and stared at him. "I . . . um, no," she stammered, looking confused and unsure.

Dick shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "What am I thinking; keeping you out here like this? You must be frozen! Red Robin flew the Batcopter in from Gotham. It should be nice and warm . . . At least warmer than it is here. We have blankets."

"I-I need to t-tell you something," she said around her chattering teeth.

"Later," he said. "After we get you home. We should swing by the emergency room," he commented as he got to his feet; squatting so he could pick her up. "This will hurt," he warned.

"You c-couldn't hurt m-me," she smiled at him.

She gasped and cried out when he lifted her. Dick grimaced as if it were he that was injured.

"I warned you," he reminded her.

"Sh-shut up," she panted through the painful aches of her body. Her ribs were the worst! "And take m-me home!"

"Your wish is my command," he teased, even as he struggled to climb the sharp, rocky incline.

* * *

Batman kneeled down. "You're going to have to pass her up," he said. "Have Red Robin help you."

Tim stepped close and the two men shifted Elle so that she was between them.

"I can help," Elle complained. "I'm not c-crippled, you know."

"Just hang on and enjoy the ride, sweetheart," Dick told her.

Elle snorted. The jostling was torturous as they lifted her up, but they were trying so hard to help, she bit her lip and endured. She made a face; tasting mud mixed in with flakes of dried blood.

_Gross_ . . .

Tears sprang to her eyes as Bruce caught her under her arms and hauled her the rest of the way up as if she were nothing but a child. She heard Dick and Tim . . . Uh, Red Robin scrambling out of the ravine behind her.

Robin was at her side as soon as Batman set her down.

_Damian_ . . .

"You should take better care of yourself, Hamilton," Robin told her.

Elle had to stifle a laugh; attempting to hold her ribs.

"She said her ribs aren't broken," Dick announced as he moved up beside her. "Just dislocated."

Although she really couldn't tell it, Elle thought Bruce was looking her over. She clutched her robe closed and tugged Dick's coat closer around her with one hand. She could only imagine how horrible she looked at that moment.

"I suppose that is something we can take care of right now," Batman murmured.

She allowed Batman to embrace her; his fist moving beneath Dick's coat and over her back to what she assumed was the correct spot. The movement was swift, but smooth, and Elle felt a pop. She gasped, as he adjusted his grip and again there followed another pop as the second rib slid back into place.

The relief was immediate, and Elle took her first deep breath in the past hour.

"Wow! How'd you l-learn to do th-that?" She moved carefully; still sore, but a thousand times better than before.

Batman looked over at Dick. "It seemed prudent to learn how," he said, and left it at that. "Robin, have you checked on our guy over there?"

Damian looked over his shoulder at the unmoving figure. "Grayson must have done a number on him," he said. "He hasn't moved from that position."

Dick glared in his direction. "I have yet to get his name or the name of his employer." He glanced at Elle. "Did he say anything to you?"

She frowned. "He didn't say who it was. J-Just that I pissed the m-man off and how he was g-going to retire and b-become a p-pirate or Conquistador."

Dick put his arm around Elle; supporting her as she leaned against him. "So, what are we going to do with him?"

"The police are already on the way. I expect them here in a few minutes," Batman told them. "Do you want to ride with us or catch a ride with your detective friends?"

"Personally, I think we'd rather catch a ride home with you," Dick said. "But I suppose someone should wait for them." He thought it should be him, but Elle needed to get out of here and he didn't think he could stand to be separated from her anytime in the near future.

"Back to Gotham?" Batman waved Red Robin back to the Batcopter. "We can arrange for Leslie to meet us at the cave."

Dick eyed Elle. "That would be a good idea. She can check Elle over and make sure she's all right."

Elle smiled against his shoulder, feeling warmer now that Dick was holding her. "I'd settle for a soak in a tub and a good night's sleep."

"You might consider getting X-rays of your cheek and that finger," Batman suggested.

She yawned. "Tomorrow . . ."

They heard the whine of the helicopter's engines starting up.

"I'll carry our hitman to the parking lot to await his ride to jail," Batman told them. "I'll meet you at home," relieving Dick of the duty.

Movement caught Dick's eye.

"Watch out," he yelled as he started to turn; pushing Elle behind him.

Multiple shots rang out, echoing throughout the park. Dick felt two impacts as he drove Elle to the ground. Batman flung a batarang that sliced the nerve in his wrist; making the assassin drop his gun. Robin had also reacted, being closer. He performed a backflip; his boot coming down hard on man's temple as he landed. He kicked the small handgun away from killer.

"He broke the zip tie," Robin announced even as he brutally kicked the stunned man over. He straddled him and pulled out a pair of metal Batcuffs. "Like to see you get out of these, you son of bitch," he snarled as he yanked the man's arms back viciously and slapped the cuffs on extra tight.

Seeing the threat being handled, Batman turned back to the couple sprawled on the ground.

Elle crawled out from under Dick, screaming, "_No_, _No_, _**No**_, _**NO**_!"

She rolled him onto his back as Batman slid to his knees on the other side of him. He ripped the torn shirt open to determine the injuries. Two bullets had struck him! One had been stopped by his body armor. It would have been a killing blow. The bullet could be seen embedded in armor and Batman knew that Dick would have a deep muscle bruise from impact. The bullet was a .38; the close proximity and Nightwing's lighter armor nearly did him in. It was the second bullet, however, that made his heart skip a beat.

The second bullet had managed to hit the vulnerable area in the seam. It had pierced the suit and Dick's chest. The younger man twisted in agony as ominous bubbles seeped from the wound. It had struck Dick's left lung. He gasped for breath.

Elle placed her hands over the wound but the bubbles continued to form around them.

Batman met her terrified gaze. "The bullet penetrated the lung," he told her. "It's created a sucking chest wound."

"I need a first aid kit," she cried. "Hurry!"

"You know how to treat this?" Batman asked. He moved to run to the helicopter, but saw Red Robin running in their direction with the first aid kit in hand.

"I took first aid in college in place of the normal health course requirement," she muttered. "But I-I only read about this once."

"Is Grayson okay?" Robin asked, worriedly, edging closer.

He kept one eye on the prisoner; not taking chances the man would pull another move like the last one. He checked again for any other hidden weapons and managed to locate a knife and a garrote hidden in his clothes.

"Not perfectly, Robin," Dick wheezed. He struggled to hold still, but each agonizing breath seemed to make the next one more difficult.

"Shh," Elle shushed him. "Don't talk."

Dick ignored her. "Don't worry," he rasped. "I'll make it. I won't let you die, too."

Tears began to roll down her face in response to his promise. "It doesn't matter. You know that I'd follow you anywhere."

"You won't have to," Dick promised. He touched her face; his fingers brushing at her tears.

Red Robin slid to halt beside them. "I heard the gunshots," he explained. He opened the first aid kit. "What have we got?"

As Batman explained, Elle immediately dove into the box's contents; searching out the items she thought she would need. Tim took out a batarang and slit the seam where the bullet had penetrated; cutting away the uniform completely.

As it was, every breath Dick took drew air through the wound and into the pleural cavity between the lung and its surrounding tissue. The tension the trapped air would create would cause Dick's lung to collapse and eventually put pressure on the other remaining organs within the thoracic cavity; important things like the other lung, the vena cava, and the heart.

She feared that the danger wasn't just the trapped air, however, but also that blood would fill the space. It could lead to respiratory or even cardiac arrest. The kit was thorough, but Elle's first aid training was limited to one three credit class and articles in medical journals in the doctor's office.

Elle pulled out a piece of plastic that she thought would work and medical tape. Tim helped her place and hold the plastic down over the wound. Elle taped three of the edges; leaving one side open to prevent more air from entering, but still hopefully allowing for air to escape.

"He'll need something to transfer him to the helicopter," she murmured, but discovered that it had been unnecessary.

While she and Red Robin had been busy treating the wound, Batman had already gone to retrieve a long spine board. Elle moved aside as Bruce lay it down next to Dick. He moved to Dick's head as Tim moved to his feet in preparation for transferring him.

She backed up several steps to get out of the way, swaying slightly. Robin shifted his position to stand next to her. When her hand bumped against his arm, Damian unconsciously reached out to take it into his.

"Looks like I'll still be collecting at least half of my bounty," the man behind them called out, laughing. "He said that if I couldn't get to you directly, that I should go after supercop."

Elle turned her head to stare at him.

"Ignore him, Elle," Damian instructed. "The guy's on his way to Blackgate Prison. He doesn't know shit." The boy was finding it difficult not to cut the guy's heart out with one of his batarangs, but assisting Elle deal with the man's taunts was helping him to remain in control as well.

"Language, Robin," Elle corrected, absentmindedly.

Damian returned his attention on watching his father and Tim as they moved Dick onto the board. Elle, however, narrowed her eyes at the bastard that had very nearly succeeded in destroying everything she loved; and for what? Money?

"I'll be out before noon, you know" he predicted. "I'll be rich and I'll be free," he smirked, "and he'll be dead. Think of me at night while you're lying alone in your bed."

"No," she whispered. She let go of Damian's hand.

He laughed. "While he's rotting, I'll be working on my tan on my new yacht."

Elle turned to face him, shaking in her anger.

"And when you least expect it, I'll be back for my other half," he told her, softly. His gaze landed on the boy next to her. "I'll even throw in the kid for free. He'll never know what hit him. He may even thank me. Puberty's a real bitch."

Her eyes landed on the small handgun the bastard had shot Dick with. Robin had kicked it a safe distance away from the hitman, but hadn't taken the time to recover it in his concern for his eldest brother.

Elle suddenly dove for it. Robin spun around; gaping at her in shock as she snatched up the gun and threw herself at her attacker.

She was a lousy shot; the mini-marshmallow war had taught her that much. So she compensated . . .

"You don't get to have a happily ever after," she snarled, and shoved the barrel of the gun into the bastard's right shoulder; pulling the trigger twice.

The son of a bitch wasn't laughing now! She was taking aim at his other side when Robin grabbed at her arm; spoiling her shot. The third bullet struck the man's wrist.

"Elle, stop," Damian cried, tugging her away from the screaming man.

But she was screaming now, too. "Try to kill someone now, you fucking son of a bitch!"

She kicked at the man, but Robin's efforts made her miss her mark. The two of them almost went down in a tangle. Then, Batman was grabbing her around the waist; wresting her off of her feet completely.

"Elle, stop," he yelled in her ear. "Dick needs help now or he could die!"

It was like dousing her with a bucket of ice water. She spit at the assassin and turned, shaking furiously now, toward Dick. She took one look at his pale face and burst into tears. Red Robin had to abandon his brother to put pressure on the bastard's wounds.

She realized her need for vengeance has slowed Dick's care. She ran over to the first aid kit, and grabbed a fat syringe full of miniature medical sponges. She ran back to the assassin, shoving Tim out of her way. Batman grabbed her hand, worried that she planned to finish what she started.

"Leave me alone," she yelled at him. "Go help Dick!"

"I can't let you . . ." Batman began, only to have Elle interrupt him.

"This will stop the bleeding," she snapped; attempting to jerk her arm away.

His gaze fell onto what she held and he seemed to understand. "Hurry, and follow us. The police will be here any minute. They can deal with him if he's stabilized."

She shoved the fat opening into the wound, causing the guy to cry out in pain, and she pressed the plunger. The mini sponges quickly filled the space and immediately began to expand as it simultaneously absorbed the excess blood and stopped additional bleeding. She used her robe's belt to tourniquet the wrist; tying it tight. If he lost the hand due to blood loss to it, she wouldn't cry over it.

The man slowly got control of his breathing and glared at her.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"It's over for _you_! _He's_ going to live," she hissed at him. "So, maybe you can buy yourself a rowboat instead that yacht," she quipped. "Your pirate name can be Stumpy."

At this point, his days of being world-class assassin were over.

Robin slid in beside her and helped her to stand.

"Come on, Hamilton," he told her even as they spotted the beams of several flashlights heading in their direction. "The police are here now. Let them handle it."

Putting her arm around the young boy, she allowed him to lead her to the waiting Batcopter and a brisk pace. Batman and Red Robin were already sliding Dick's long board into the back and securing it as they approached.

Elle allowed them to put her into the helicopter and wrapped a blanket around her. She sat next to Dick, but looked back at the scene just beyond the bridge. Nearly all the lights focused on the killer, but a couple of them shone in their direction.

"They're going to know I shot a helpless man," she murmured. Her eyes returned to the man she loved more than life itself. She picked up Dick's hand.

His face was a grimace as he concentrated of breathing and controlling his own pain. He was caught up in his own struggles at the moment and was unaware yet of what she had done.

_Would he forgive me for that_?

She remembered that vow he had talked about only a couple of weeks ago; the one where you don't take a human life. But she hadn't intended to kill the man . . . Only make him wish that he were dead.

Damian had to help her fasten her seatbelt as she seemed disinclined to do it herself. Her thoughts elsewhere. He shook his head at her.

"No, they won't," Damian told her. "I wiped off your prints and put on Grayson's while everyone was busy with your drama scene. It will look like Grayson shot him with the assassin's own gun in an effort to save you."

Elle gaped at the boy. _Who thinks of things like that_?

"What about the evidence? The wounds won't support that," she told him. She had shot the assassin in the shoulder at point black range. There was no reconstructive surgery in the world that would be able to piece together what was left of his joint.

Robin tsked. "Hamilton, the man had beaten and kidnapped a Bludhaven police officer's fiancée with the intention of murdering both her and the officer. I would lay money that whatever evidence is found will support my theory."

"But won't Dick get into trouble for that," she worried.

She thought that Robin rolled his eyes at her, but wasn't sure. "This is Bludhaven, Hamilton. The line of ethics in this city is blurry at best."

She thought that _Dick's_ ethics were razor-sharp. Now she worried that she had ruined everything with her lack of forethought. Was their relationship doomed to die this night after all because she had acted out thoughtlessly in a moment of anger? She stroked Dick's hand; luxuriating in the feel of his skin against her own while she knew she still could.

* * *

Bruce had already de-cowled and frowned back at the two of them. He would be having a conversation with his son about tampering with evidence, but later . . . Maybe in a year or so. He picked up the change of clothes that Alfred had placed inside the Batcopter before it left Gotham.

He didn't think Dick had the time for them to reach the Batcave before his situation turned critical. If they were to sit down at Mercy Hospital here in Bludhaven, he wanted to be able to handle things himself, and he couldn't do that as The Batman. He had to be there as Dick's father; as Bruce Wayne.

"ETA to the nearest hospital?"

Tim glanced at him. "Eight minutes," he answered him. "Wind is picking up."

"Is it going to be a problem?" Looking out at the night, Bruce noticed the snow had started. Just flurries right now, but that could change before daylight arrived.

"No, I've got this," the teenager said. "I radioed Alfred. He'll have clothes and stuff waiting for Damian and I. We'll drive back here as soon as we can."

"Only if the weather doesn't worsen," Bruce told him. "One son in the hospital is quite enough for one night."

"Is he going to be okay?" Tim asked just loud enough for Bruce to hear.

"He will," Bruce assured him. Dick would be okay because there could be no other outcome that Bruce would tolerate.

"I hope so," Tim said. "Elle wouldn't handle it well otherwise."

Elle wouldn't handle it at all, Bruce thought. Elle would follow Dick to the grave quite literally. Tim and Damian didn't know that about them yet; didn't know about the bond . . . or that Elle was anything other than ordinary. It was Elle's secret to tell.

"What are you going to do about the Batmobile," Tim asks.

Bruce grunted. "Already taken care of," he said, holding up what looked like a normal car remote. "I'm sending it home."

* * *

Dick's breathing was becoming shallower; more labored. He panted and squeezed Elle's hand. It felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He could hear her and Damian talking, but the words sounded more like buzzing. His heart was pounding.

* * *

Elle noticed Dick's increased distress immediately. He squeezed her hand, but she was already taking off her seatbelt, shrugging off her blanket to kneel beside to him.

_He was scared_!

She checked his blood pressure and heart rate. The blood pressure was too low! His heart rate too high!

"Dick, can you talk?"

His eyelids fluttered, but his eyes were unfocused. His skin was pale and had a sheen of sweat.

Damian had moved to Dick's other side. "What's wrong?"

"His BP is dropping," Elle said, alarmed. "He's going into shock. How much longer?"

Damian turned to ask as Elle checked his makeshift bandage. His side was soaked, and the tape was peeling away; making it ineffective anymore. The bubbles were making a reappearance. She grabbed the AED, thinking she could just seal the wound off completely using one of the defibrillator pads; it was sticky enough to handle the blood, but then hesitated.

What if his dropping blood pressure was due to tension pneumothorax? She looked, but couldn't see the distension of his jugular vein in his neck, but that could also be that the increased pressure from air and blood in the pleural cavity were compressing the heart and the inferior and superior vena cava; the large vein in the central body that brings blood back to the heart and lungs. Dick's chest was expanded, but it didn't appear to go down as with normal respiration.

Another sign of tension pneumothorax . . .

_Damn it_! What good was reading all those articles if she didn't know what to do to treat the problem? She remembered all the stupid details enough to know what was killing him, but nothing about how to save him!

Damian was back and Bruce was climbing out of his seat and into the back to join them. He understood that things just took a dramatic change for the worse with one look at the two of them.

"We're only a couple of minutes away. What's going on? How can I help?"

Elle dropped the pad from numbed fingers. "I-I don't know what to do!" She looked at him helplessly. "I don't know how to help him!"

"Tim's radioed ahead," Bruce tried to comfort her. "They have a crack trauma team waiting for when we arrive."

She watched as Dick's father ran a hand over his son's head, but Dick wasn't conscious enough to appreciate the gesture. Her Tears coursed down her face unheeded.

Dick was dying . . .

"Don't do this," she begged him. "Don't leave me."

The first hard contraction of her heart suddenly reminded her . . . He wasn't going to go alone! The pain shot that through her chest was powerful enough to make her flinch. One hand fluttered up to her heart as she clutched Dick's hand in the other. She sank down beside him, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I love you," she whispered and closed her eyes.

Oddly enough, she wasn't frightened anymore. She felt calm. Wherever he was going; she was going to go with him . . .

And that . . . made everything . . .

. . . Okay.

* * *

**_Uh Oh! What just happened_?**

**REACTIONS? Come on, there are bound to be a few . . .**

**The type of gun the assassin used is a Sig Sauer P238. It is a tiny gun about 5.5 inches in length, making it perfect for concealed carry. In this case, the gun was hidden next to his groin - a place that most men tend to skip or merely graze over - enabling a man like "Nameless" to retain a weapon on his person that no one knew about.**

**Zip ties are actually not all that difficult to break; a lesson Batman learned the hard way. The Batcuffs are nearly escape-proof.**

**_Pneumothorax_ \- a condition that happens when the lung is punctured, causes the damaged organ to collapse as air becomes trapped in the pleural cavity. Inside the chest is cavity that contains important organs like the heart and lungs. Each lung is surrounded by a thin, but tough membrane called the pleural cavity. This membrane folds over on itself to form two layers and in between those layers is fluid. **

**When the lung is punctured (whether by a closed injury, like a broken rib, or an open injury, like in this case, from a bullet wound), air escapes into this cavity surrounding the lung every time the victim inhales, but is unable to escape when the victim exhales. As the pressure builds, it can cause the lung to collapse. (An open wound is called a _sucking chest wound_** ** and is another name for Pneumothorax.) **

**_Tension Pneumothorax_ (usually happens more often with a closed wound) occurs when blood and air fill the space so greatly that it puts pressure on the other organs in the thoracic cavity, such as the heart, the inferior and superior vena cava (the largest blood vessel in your body), and the other lung (possibly causing it to collapse as well and forcing the patient into respiratory arrest), displacing the trachea (your air pipe) - meaning moving it out of place, can cause the jugular veins on either side of the neck to be visually distended (unless the blood flow is extremely restricted, then no), hypotension (low blood pressure). The chest may rise as the cavity fills, but does not lower as with normal exhalations (in the case of just one lung collapse, the chest may be extended asymmetrically as one lung will work normally, but the injured pleural cavity of the second lung fills with blood and air.) Respiratory and cardiac arrest usually results if emergency medical care isn't possible.**

**Elle's treatment of Dick's pneumothorax is correct. And you can use an AED defibrillator pad to completely cover the wound in some cases. OH, and did you know that the pleural cavity is capable of holding up to 1/3 of the body's total blood volume! :O Yeah, I know! The body is amazing . . .**

**The syringe that Elle used to stop "Nameless'" bleeding is a device fairly recently approved by the FDA. The tiny sponges will absorb excess blood and expand, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding temporarily. It usually is effective for 4 hours. It is called _Xstat._ The sponges are marked with an "X" that will show up in X-rays. The only problem this devise has is that the sponges are not biodegradable; thus they must be removed completely from the body.**

**"_Murphy's Law_", for those of you who have not heard of it simply means that "everything that can go wrong, will". I thought this chapter qualified.**

**Lots of author's notes in this one. Hope you found them interesting! The wait for the next chapter shouldn't be as long.**


	93. On a 'Wing and a Prayer

**WARNING: Language, some Graphic Images . . .**

* * *

"Elle!" Damian yelped as the young woman collapsed.

Almost gracefully, Elle fell across Dick body. Bruce had seen the flash of pain before she fell unconscious. To look at her now, however, she looked peaceful; as though she had merely fallen asleep.

Damian leapt to his feet and grabbed his father's shoulder. "What's happening? Do something!" He yelled to the pilot, "Drake, hurry this damned thing up!"

Bruce stepped over his son to pick Elle up. Her breathing had stopped. Did she even have a heartbeat? He glanced outside as he lay her down beside Dick and saw that they were in the process of landing even now.

But there was no time to spare. He had to keep her going until the trauma team could save Dick. If they were able to bring his son back, only for him to discover that she had died, he feared that nothing would stop him from joining her.

He started CPR as Robin pried open the door for the hospital team to enter.

He heard someone yell, "Shit! We're going to need another gurney up here . . . Stat!" even as the helicopter was invaded by medical personnel.

When he was finally shoved aside so that Elle could be transferred to a second gurney, Bruce was exhausted. At the beginning of the night, he had no idea that it would end like this. He climbed out, still yelling orders. All he needed was some idiot doctor to pronounce Elle DOA before Dick could be stabilized. They had to keep her going . . . He felt certain that once Dick was out of danger, she would be able to be revived as well

"What should we do?" Robin tugged on the edge of his sleeve.

In the boy's worry, he was forgetting that he was still in uniform. Red Robin came around the side of the Batcopter and tugged him back toward the aircraft.

"We are going back to the Batcave. I'm sure that the rest of Mr. Wayne's family will be here as soon as possible," he told the younger boy.

At the gentle reminder, Robin threw himself back into the vehicle and began buckling up.

"Come on, Red Robin," he ordered. "Or I'm leaving without you!"

Tim gave Bruce a look that promised a swift return before he turned around and ran back to the pilot's seat.

"You can't reach the pedals, squirt!"

* * *

Bruce didn't look back as they took off, but followed the trauma team into the hospital. Dick had already disappeared into the interior of the building. He ran, following Elle's gurney. One female EMT was straddling the young woman; her knees on either side of her as she continued CPR while the second team rushed them into the depths of the emergency room's trauma unit.

Bruce grabbed a nurse as she rushed to set up the crash cart.

"She was kidnapped and tortured," he informed her. "Please, she can't die. Do whatever it takes to keep her going. Spare no expense."

"Are you family," the woman, her tag read Anita G., asked him sympathetically.

She's my daughter-in-law," Bruce told her without qualm. "My son is in the room next door. He wouldn't take her death lightly. Please . . ."

Her eyes widened. "We will do everything in our power . . ."

"I don't care what it takes," he emphasized. "Do _not_ give up on her. Put her on full life support if you have to."

The nurse nodded, but waved to the room beyond them. "I understand," she told him. "Do you know if there is any chance that she might be pregnant?"

Bruce's brain stuttered. "I-I don't . . . know." He wasn't stupid. He knew that Dick and Elle were living together now. Hell, it wasn't that long ago that he had fished her underwear out of his pool, much to the couple's acute embarrassment. "It's possible, of course, but I hadn't heard anything that would lead me to believe she is now."

The nurse smiled comfortingly; patting Bruce's arm. "Fine; that's fine. It's just something that we always have to ask. I need to go help her now. The waiting room is through those doors," she indicated a blue door at the end of the long hall.

Bruce stepped back as she disappeared into the chaos. He had no intention of waiting anywhere but in his son's room. They would have to drag him away. He ducked into Dick's room and noted the same frantic energy of the team working on him. Finding a corner that was unused and where he did not block medical personnel or equipment, Bruce stationed himself to wait . . . and to pray.

He and God had an awkward relationship to be sure. He generally considered himself to be agnostic, except in times like this, when control was wrest violently from his hands and Bruce was forced to rely on the whims of a merciless fate. He always preferred hedging his bets, however, when at all possible.

He heard a rush of air as the team of doctors decompressed Dick's chest with a 14-gauge needle as another intubated him. Immediately there was a corresponding beep on the EKG as the pressure against his heart was removed, but the rhythm was erratic. Dick was struggling; doing his damndest to survive, but he was in obvious distress. A nurse pulled out the defibrillator and seconds later, someone yelled "Clear", and Dick's body jolted hard in response. The rhythm remained irregular.

"Come on, Dick," Bruce whispered. "You can do this!"

Again Dick's body convulsed as an electrical current ran through his heart in an effort to restore a normal sinus rhythm. His heartrate fluttered wildly before flatlining. CPR was begun for several minutes until another erratic rhythm was detected, and the defibrillator was employed for the third time.

What was that saying? Third time's a charm? Bruce physically slumped against the corner as the EKG began recording a regular, if slightly elevated, heartbeat. Did God answer his prayer or did the doctors and technological advances do that? He ran a shaking hand over his eyes. He didn't know, and in all honesty, he didn't care; his son was saved today . . . And Bruce liked to hedge his bets.

He sent up a heartfelt thank you into the air. Whether God intercepted it or an uncaring Fate ignored it, it was there. Dick wasn't completely out of the woods yet, but he was no longer in immediate danger. His son was safe, for now. Bruce had faith in those medical personnel to continue caring for his boy in a competent manner.

Now Bruce needed to ensure he stayed that way. He moved out into the hallway and back to the neighboring room. He pushed open the door and felt his heart drop.

Chaos still reigned here. The doctors and nurses were rushing about, but somehow, magically almost, never seemed to get into one another's way. Elle looked filthy against the stark white of the sheets she lay on. He could see the cuts on the bottom of her feet. Most were already encrusted with mud and newly-formed scabs, but there was still one that was deep enough that blood still flowed sluggishly and dripped steadily onto the tiled floor.

"I have a rhythm," one of the nurses yelled after several more agonizing moments.

"Finally," the doctor muttered as he continued tipping her head back and slipping a tube down her throat.

Bruce winced. For a woman whose life revolved around her voice, that was going to hurt. He imagined Elle would be hoarse afterwards, but she would be alive! That was what mattered. Dick would make it so long as she was there to anchor him to this world.

He still wasn't keen on the bond. While it ensured her loyalty and Bruce took comfort in the fact that Dick would never be alone, she was also a serious weakness; a liability that could be exploited to Dick detriment should knowledge of their link get into the wrong hands. He sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. Dick was also her weakness to be fair; a far more serious one, he conceded after watching her collapse in the Batcopter when Dick's condition deteriorated literally to the point of death.

The nurse he had spoken with earlier spotted him.

"Sir, you shouldn't be in here," she told him gently.

"Will she be alright," he asked instead of acknowledging her words. "Will she live?"

Anita G. smiled at him. Bruce searched her face and found it sincere. Good news . . .

"It was an amazing thing. Nothing was working on her," she admitted. "The doctors were ready to pronounce her at least twice, but I did what you asked and insisted we not give up. And then, suddenly her heart just started beating on its own. No arrhythmia; just a nice, solid, steady beat."

"Why the intubation?" Bruce nodded at the equipment she was still hooked to.

"She wasn't breathing on her own. This is just a precaution, until we see she is stabilized."

Bruce nodded. As long as Dick remained stable, so would Elle.

"I'm sure Admitting has been looking for you," Anita reminded him. "There will be paperwork to fill out and insurance. I'm sure there will be more questions needing to be answered about both patients' medical history."

"I only know the basics on Elle," he admitted. "Although I can have my son's medical records faxed to you. How soon do you think until they can go home?"

Anita smiled. "It's far too early to tell, but I can assure you that they'll be here for a little while."

"Would it be possible to get them transferred to Gotham General? It is closer to family and Dick's own physician is there."

"I suppose, once they are both stable, but we have a very good staff," Anita informed him. "Your son and his wife will be in good hands here."

When will they be transferred to a room," Bruce asked. "Would it be possible for them to share one together?"

"I couldn't say just yet, but it is likely that one, if not both of them will be admitted to the ICU unit. Those are all private rooms, but once they are out of danger, you can talk to the administration about a double room," Anita took his arm gently and began leading him out.

"Kicking me out, are you?" Bruce moved easily. They were both going to live, barring any complications.

"Paperwork," she reminded him. "We need that medical history, as well."

"Of course," he said. He paused in the hallway to peek back into Dick's room.

The excitement had ended, and a couple of nurses and a doctor remained to finish inserting a draining tube into Dick's side as a means of releasing any more trapped air. He would be needing surgery to remove the bullet still embedded in his chest. Bruce would make a phone call and see what needed to be done in order to get Leslie cleared to do Dick's surgery here in Bludhaven. Bruce was impressed by the care his son had so far received, but Bruce still preferred Dick not go under anyone's knife but Leslie's.

As he moved out into the waiting room and on toward Admitting, Bruce saw that he was about to be intercepted by the detectives from Elle's apartment building. He sighed. Remembering Damian's actions on Elle's behalf, his mind started working out a plausible story to explain how Nameless, as Bruce had begun calling the assassin, had gotten his shoulder blown out and how Dick's prints had gotten on the weapon that was responsible.

"Not now, gentlemen," Bruce held up a hand. "I have paperwork to attend to."

Campbell was scowling. "So we heard! Did I not tell you to keep your son out of this?"

"What part of 'not now' did you not understand, Detective Campbell," Bruce snapped. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Although he had a strong suspicion.

"It's the closest hospital to Astor Park, where we found our guy bleeding out from having his shoulder blown off and locked in a pair of these," Campbell held up the set of batcuffs that Damian had used to restrain the hitman.

"Took us rather a long time to get them off," Chon commented. "You'd think Batman would use cuffs that would respond to one of our handcuff keys."

"If you're looking for sympathy from me, detectives, you'll be waiting here for a very long time," Bruce told them. "That man kidnapped and tortured my daughter-in-law and tried to murder my son. Something he very nearly managed to accomplish despite Batman's timely interference."

"Don't you mean your 'future' daughter-in-law," Chon corrected.

Bruce waved the comment away. "A mere formality," he said. "We are merely waiting for the reservation of the church."

Campbell wasn't so easily distracted. "We have some questions we want to ask you about what happened at the park."

"They will have to wait," Bruce insisted as he moved around the men. "I have paperwork to fill out."

"Oh, we're not going anywhere soon," Campbell called after him.

"Then you might locate the cafeteria, detectives," Bruce sent back over his shoulder. "It's going to be a long night."

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**I know this is short, but another will follow before long . . . Many questions will be answered soon. **

**Don't forget to review and fave if you're loving the story! **


	94. Another Box of Tissues

**That's right . . . Today is a TWO-FER!**

**Warning: Some Language and Tissues . . .**

* * *

"Dick's in ICU, waiting for Leslie to arrive to perform his surgery. Elle was just given a room on the floor down," Bruce murmured into his cell phone. "Both are stabilized for the moment."

He listened to Tim on the other side of the line spreading the news to Damian and Alfred. They were already on their way back to Bludhaven despite the weather. The snow was coming down hard, but his middle son had assured them that Alfred was driving the Range Rover and had taken the added precaution of adding chains to the tires.

"You'll find me on one floor or the other," Bruce told him. He looked up to see one of the doctors from the emergency room approaching him. "Look, Tim, I've got to go. I'll see you when you get here."

"Mr. Wayne? I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Dr. Evan Carter," the African-American doctor introduced himself. "You met me once, I believe, the last time your daughter-in-law was admitted after a mugging approximately two months ago."

"Dr. Carter, yes, I remember," Bruce shook his hand.

"I was very sorry to see her back so soon," the doctor chided, gently.

"Yes, well, this time trouble came knocking on her door, Doctor," Bruce assured him. "But you came up to give me a report on her condition, I hope."

"Yes, indeed," Carter admitted. "The woman has amazing resilience and healing capabilities. She astounded me the last time she was here, and she's managed to do the same this time as well. Her recovery from her very near-death experience simply defies logic. Luckily, I recognized her early on, and we had a supply of her blood on hand."

Bruce lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

Because of her unusual blood type," he explained, "she and your son have both come in and left a supply for her use. It came in handy, although she wasn't in danger of hypovolemic shock this time around. She only needed one pint."

"Ah, yes," Bruce nodded. "Go on. You were about to tell me her condition."

Carter's face fell slightly and Bruce felt his heart speed up correspondingly. "What is it," he asked.

"I-I hate this part of my job," the doctor admitted, soberly. "The good news I enjoy giving the families, but the bad news . . ." He sighed, but mercifully didn't keep Bruce in suspense any longer than necessary.

"I'm sorry. It is my understanding that this wasn't common knowledge yet, at least that was my impression after speaking with the nurse you spoke with earlier. I'm fairly certain that you weren't yet aware that Arabella was pregnant."

_Dick is going to be a father_?

Bruce blinked. He knew he grew paler because he could feel the blood draining from his face. He didn't know . . . Everything that she had gone through over the past six hours or so slid through his head involuntarily.

But no . . . Carter was delivering bad news.

"She lost the baby?"

"Even had we known when she first arrived . . ." Carter shook his head. "It was her bloodwork that alerted us."

"The trauma caused it," Bruce said knowingly.

"Actually, the baby was small and very well protected. Based upon her injuries that we could see, the physical trauma alone wouldn't necessarily been enough to trigger a miscarriage," Carter explained. "We believe it was those moments when her heart had stopped beating that I think irreparable damage occurred. I'm so sorry."

A sharp pain was felt in the vicinity of his heart. Bruce hadn't even known until this moment that a baby had existed, and already the knowledge of its loss, given to him in nearly the same breath grieved him. _Did Dick know about the baby_? _Hell, did Elle even know_? _How early into the pregnancy was_ it?

"How far along was she? Do you know?"

The best we can guesstimate is around four weeks, give or take," Carter told him.

_Just one month along_ . . .

"Is she awake yet? Does she know? Have you told her?" Bruce mind raced. If Elle wasn't aware of her pregnancy, maybe she didn't have to know.

Carter sighed. "I just spoke with her a few moments ago. She woke and was asking after Dick. She only discovered it for herself just last night. I'm very sorry."

Bruce nodded. Dick was under a light sedation, and wouldn't be awake for a while. He moved toward the elevator to go see her. He saw two of the nurses weeping at the nurses' station as he walked by and knew they had been in to see her recently. He paused at the door to her room as he found himself struggling to control his own emotions. The sudden urge to weep struck him.

Swallowing his grief for a child never born, Bruce pushed open the door and entered the room. Elle was sitting up with her knees bent, elbows resting on them and her head in her hands. The sounds of her own grief were barely heard and already he felt like the world was crashing in around him. He understood that it was his own feelings, but magnified a hundred times over by her own.

"Elle," he called to her softly, choking.

Her breath caught and she raised red-rimmed eyes to his. Tears streaked her face. She wiped at her face as she bid him enter.

"I . . . heard," Bruce said, lamely. "I'm sorry."

Renewed sobs shook her. Unsure of what else to do, Bruce sat on the side of her bed and drew her into his arms. Dick responded to physical contact, maybe Elle would also. She clung to him; grasping at his jacket with one hand and his neck with the other as her tears soaked his shoulder.

They sat that way for a long time. When she finally pulled away, Bruce's face was as wet as hers. He handed her a tissue and grabbed one for himself.

"I-I feel like such a failure," she hiccuped; wiping futilely at her still streaming eyes.

"What? Why? Elle, none of this is your fault," Bruce told her. "There was nothing more you could have done."

"I couldn't protect it," she cried. "I couldn't even protect myself; not even after everything you and Dick taught me. My mind just went blank, and I couldn't think! I should have paid better attention; worked harder!"

"You've only been learning self-defense for a short time, Elle. No one knows how they'll react in an emergency situation until it happens," Bruce said, holding onto her good hand. Her left was encased in a brace that went from mid-forearm to her fingertips. "What we taught you was for the common mugger, Elle. The man who attacked you was a professional. There was nothing more you could have done that he wouldn't have been prepared for."

Her face contorted with anger and she pulled her hand away. "I wish now I would have killed him!" She shot him a look. "I'm sorry if that shocks you, but I _hate_ that man! _I __**hate**__ him_!"

Bruce was silent while she broke down again. She didn't reach for him this time, but turned her face away towards the window. After a while, she dabbed at her eyes again with her ruined tissue. Bruce took it from her and handed her a new one.

Sniffling, Elle kept her gaze on his chest. "You probably hate me now, too," she murmured. "You probably wish Dick had never met me."

"No," he answered quietly. "You are still the best thing that ever happened to him . . . To all of us, really."

"How can you say that?" She stared at him now in surprise. "Dick's upstairs in the Intensive Care Unit because of me!"

"Dick is upstairs because of me," Bruce said.

"What? How do you figure that?" She tilted her head in confusion.

"If I'd have taken the time to search him more thoroughly before helping Dick search for you; if I'd have pulled my cuffs instead of a zip tie," he sighed and looked down at the floor. "None of us were thinking very clearly last night. I let my emotions get the better of me and slipped my standards."

"Your emotions?" Elle blinked at him.

"Dick wasn't himself. He was terrified for you, and I'll admit that I was afraid, also. I worried about what he would do if we didn't find you quickly or if the assassin had decided to kill you before we got there," Bruce admitted, reluctantly. "Time was of the essence, and I let it distract me from doing what I knew was right. It was not one of my more stellar moments, to be sure. A rookie mistake that I hadn't made since I first began. It should never have happened, Elle. You have my sincerest apology."

Elle dropped her gaze as she thought about that. After a moment, her hand slipped over to grasp his. "We should keep the blame on who it belongs," she murmured. "That . . . that animal!"

Accepting her statement as forgiveness, Bruce nodded. "Does Dick know?"

Elle's gaze now snapped up to his face; panic on it.

"No! No, and it's going to stay that way," she demanded.

"He has a right to know," Bruce told her.

Tears sprang to her eyes again as she shook her head vigorously. "No! No! You have to promise me you won't tell him!"

"Elle, he's going to feel your grief and know something is wrong, but not what it is."

"There is no reason for him to have to experience this," she insisted. "Please, Bruce! He can't know!"

"Like what you are experiencing right now," Bruce commented.

"It's more my fault than his," she told him. "Dick didn't know. He would only find a way to blame himself; you know he will!"

"I thought we were keeping the blame where it belongs?"

Elle grasped his jacket lapels and stared into his face; tears hovering on the edges of her lashes. "I'm begging you, Bruce. Don't tell him . . . _Please_! Don't do this!"

Hadn't he wanted to spare her the grief of losing a child only a short time ago? His shoulders slumped. He didn't want to lie to his son, but he, too, wanted to spare him this kind of pain. A small voice inside him warned him that this wasn't a good idea, but Bruce shoved it aside ruthlessly, and sent up second prayer in less than two hours from his first that this wasn't going to be a mistake.

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "But you need to seek some counseling. You are taking this very hard."

Her face scrunched up and a new trail of tears ran down her cheeks. "I only knew about it for a few hours. I only suspected it for a day," she said, staring down at her hands. She picked absentmindedly at the brace. "Nonna figured it out first and told me before she boarded the plane yesterday morning."

Bruce was silent; uncomfortable. This was far more emotion than he was used to dealing with at any given time. He knew he would be eyeing the door if it weren't at his back.

Elle's breath hitched. "B-But I loved it already . . . More than anything. And I miss it, already." Her hand crept up to her chest, clutching futilely at the hospital gown above her heart. "My heart is breaking . . . Bruce! How much worse could this hurt had I had the opportunity to actually meet this child and hold it in my arms? Is this pain what parenthood is all about?"

Bruce thought about the horrible aftermath of losing Jason; of the terrible close calls that Dick and Tim had experienced . . . Damian hadn't had anything happen to him that truly threatened his life as yet, but he knew; Bruce _knew_ that that day was approaching and he dreaded it.

"All of that," he told her quietly, "and fear and regret; heartaches during their trials and hardships that they must face, but it is tempered with all of these moments of joy and times where you are just so proud that you think you cannot contain it all without bursting . . . It's worth it. For those moments of joy . . . they add up to a lifetime."

"I'm alive," she whispered. "So, Dick's alive. I figured as much, but I couldn't feel him. The doctor said he thought he was okay . . . Stabilized, at least."

When Bruce handed her another tissue, holding out the box for her, Elle took the entire thing. She was going to be needing it for a while longer, but the long crying jag over the course of the last hour was leaving her feeling hollow inside. And yet, still the tears came. She wiped her eyes again and blew her nose. It was embarrassing, but necessary. She needed good news.

"How is he? When can I see him," she asked.

"He's one floor above you," Bruce told her, "in ICU waiting for his own doctor to arrive. He's stable, but sedated. Leslie should be here soon, and she'll remove the bullet. We should see improvement after that."

Elle bit her lip. "Surgery," she whispered.

She knew it was necessary, but couldn't say whether or not this could be considered good news.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Bruce squeezed her hand. "Leslie's the best," he assured her. "She's pulled Dick's hide out of the fire before. Besides," he smiled, "I heard him tell you that he would make it. Dick always keeps his promises."

A smile hovered hesitantly on her lips.

"I should let you sleep," he said, standing up finally. "You've had an eventful night."

A watery laugh burst from her. "Eventful . . . right."

"I'm going to go check on Dick, and wait for the rest of the clan to arrive. Do you need anything before I go?"

Elle held up the box of tissues and shook it. "Another box, please."

Bruce nodded, but said nothing. She would have to work through her grief in her own way; no one could do it for her.

That bastard was somewhere in this same hospital, and Bruce thought of Elle's angry proclamation. She had expected him to be shocked, but Elle didn't realize how desperately that Bruce was hanging on to his vow at this very moment. He wanted nothing more than to find him and finish the job she had started, but . . . he couldn't.

While he hoped for Elle's sake that the man survived to be prosecuted, should Nameless up and die from his wounds, Bruce wouldn't be . . . displeased.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Whew! This was emotionally draining . . . It wasn't a decision made easily. I think most of you gave up on the child before I did, but ultimately this is to be a happy story. The sequel is fast approaching and you can expect great things happening in it.**

**What are your thoughts on Elle's decision to keep her miscarriage a secret from Dick?**


	95. Post-Op

**Oh, Wow! You guys have been so patient! And I really appreciate the reviews . . . Elle's my baby, and it pleases me to no end that so many of you have taken her into your heart as well. **

**My Young Justice story is now out. LOL! I ended up writing a brand-new story in less than a week's time. 8 chapters and nearly 29,000 words in 7 days, and believe it or not, it turned out really great! If you like Young Justice (Remember Last Chance is a different AU than YJ. Dick started Teen Titans in this one.), then check it out. It's got everything and Robin-whump! (I don't know why I feel the urge to beat up my absolute favorite character, but if you enjoy seeing Dick Grayson struggling to survive, then this is the story for you!) It has a very original premise and it is out there already complete! No waiting!**

**Now back to our regularly-scheduled storyline . . .**

**WARNING: Just Bruce being typical, manipulative, controlling Bruce . . . (You gotta love him!)**

* * *

Bruce's heart sped up as soon as the doors opened and Leslie walked out. She was just pulling the mask off of her face and still wore her soiled scrubs. She had known Bruce long enough to know he would rather have information immediately than to be forced to wait until she had cleaned up. Sending a nurse was not an option either.

"He is going to be fine," Leslie told them before anyone could ask. "The surgery went like clockwork. I don't expect any complications."

Bruce was on his feet and meeting her halfway across the surgical unit's waiting room. "When can I see him?"

Leslie sighed. She looked and sounded exhausted. "You need to realize that I haven't the same influence here as I do at Gotham General."

"When."

"They might let you into recovery in another hour to an hour and a half," she told him. "It depends on when he wakes up from the anesthesia. But," she held up a finger in front of his face, "you'll only have five minutes with him before you'll be escorted out."

"Five . . .?"

"Five minutes, Bruce," she repeated. "Afterwards, when they get him settled back in ICU, you'll each be able to take a few minutes visiting him."

Bruce frowned. "Why is he going back to ICU? I thought you said he'll be fine."

"It's just a precaution," Leslie told him. "I want to be sure that he doesn't have any issues when we take him off of the respirator."

"He's on a respirator?" Tim interjected.

Leslie's gaze softened for the eighteen year old. "I was operating on his lung, so yes, he will need a little help for the next twelve to twenty-four hours, I expect. After that, we'll take him off and see how he does."

"You said you didn't expect complications," Bruce reminded her.

"I don't," she reassured him. "I honestly don't expect him to need the respirator for more than twelve hours, but you never know. Sometimes people need a little more recovery time. Dick's healthy and strong. He's in excellent shape. He should be just fine."

Bruce wasn't as pleased as anyone else might have been with the news. He wanted to see his son; to sit with him and watch over him until Bruce was certain that Dick was going to be okay. It was one thing for Leslie to tell him so, but as much as he trusted her, he trusted his own eyes more.

And nothing was more important to him than family.

It had been a hard lesson he had had to learn. He had made so many mistakes over the years with his boys. Mistakes bad enough to have run them all off. Each time he had almost lost one, he had reacted badly . . . And then when Jason had . . . He sucked in his breath. He should have lost Dick forever at that point – not to death, but because of his own stupidity and fear.

This Christmas had been an epiphany. A gift he could never have hoped for, but for which he would remain eternally grateful. Everyone, all of his children, had come home. All of them under one roof. But like a great, fat cherry on top of it was the laughter and sense of peace that had permeated the gathering.

Oh, there had been a couple of tense moments, but that was only to be expected. It had been more than he could have dreamed possible. But he found he was greedy. He wanted to have this again. And again. But then, this morning, he has very nearly lost it all yet again. He needed to see Dick . . . Needed to see him with his own eyes. He'd never be able to rest easy otherwise.

Leslie interrupted his thoughts. "Now, what's this I hear about Dick having a wife," she asked, intrigued. "I don't recall receiving my invitation to anyone's wedding."

Bruce pulled her away from the other families present.

"It hasn't happened yet, of course," he said. "But I realized that the hospital would never have given me information on Elle's condition otherwise; nor access to her outside of normal visiting hours."

"Or give him a say in the course of her care," Damian chimed in unhelpfully.

Tim elbowed the boy, frowning. He shook his head.

"What?" Damian blinked, confused.

Leslie glared at Bruce. "What is _this_?"

Bruce sighed. "It was necessary, Leslie. You'll see that if you only hear me out," he told her as he raised his hands defensively.

"What you are doing is against the law, Bruce," she hissed at him. "It violates that young woman's privacy, not to speak of the moral and ethical implications! You had no right!"

"Her parents are dead, and her half-brother actively hates her according to Dick. He even suspects the brother to be behind her attack and kidnapping. Her assailant was a professional hitman, Leslie! Do you really expect me to allow the hospital to contact the man who might possibly be behind her and Dick's attempted murder and give him the final say in her care?"

Leslie's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned with this information. "Have you contacted the police with Dick's suspicions?

"The police know the situation and Dick's suspicions," Bruce assured her.

"You could have contacted the board of directors for the hospital about the extenuating circumstances and allowed them to make a decision . . ." She said, pointing a finger at him.

"Leslie, I was forced to give her CPR as we were arriving here. Without my lie, she might have been pronounced DOA," he explained. "The nurse that tended her in the emergency room has already admitted that it was only at my insistence that they not give up on her that spurred them to continue to treat her until she was finally stabilized. What do you think her brother might have told them in my place? She is only alive now because I told them that she and Dick were already married, thus enabling me to have a say in her care as a family member."

Leslie shook her head and raised her hands up. "_Stop_! Don't tell me anymore! If I help you perpetuate this lie, I could end up losing my license . . . Being fined. Jail time. Hopefully, no one will question me about Mrs. Grayson."

"Mrs. Grayson-_Wayne_," Bruce corrected. "It is Dick's name, officially, and I didn't want there to be any confusion about our relationship."

Leslie dropped her head into her hand and turned away to walk away. She couldn't hear any more.

"When can I see him?"

Leslie halted, but didn't turn around. "I'll send word," she stated and headed back through the double doors to the doctor's locker room.

"She wasn't very happy with you, Father," Damian commented.

"It was a necessary lie," he repeated. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Leslie didn't understand everything that was involved, and he certainly wasn't about to explain it to her here.

* * *

With at least an hour before he would be allowed in to see Dick, Bruce went to visit Elle and update her on Dick's surgery and condition. He knew she would be relieved. She had been as upset by the idea of his surgery as she had about losing the baby.

He tapped lightly on the door before opening it, but was surprised to find Elle sleeping soundly. Perhaps she wasn't as distraught as he had thought . . . Or she had worn herself out. Then again, there was a good chance that someone had already thought to update her on Dick's condition, believing her to be his wife already.

Bruce had just exited the room when a nurse nearly bumped into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I was just coming to check on Mrs. Grayson-Wayne to see how she was doing."

"She's sleeping," Bruce informed her as she peeked around the door at its lone occupant.

"That's good," the nurse said. "We were very worried about her. She had taken the news of her loss so badly, and then having an anxiety attack on top of it . . ."

Bruce frowned. "What anxiety attack? She was terribly upset, but . . ."

"I believe it was around three hours ago," the nurse, Bruce read her nametag, Elizabeth N., said.

Three hours ago . . . That was when Dick was going into surgery.

"What happened?" If it came out as more of a demand, the nurse would forgive him; after all, Elle was family.

"She started screaming."

"What?" Bruce reopened the door and peeked in. Still sleeping.

"It could be an adverse reaction to the painkillers the doctor prescribed, but she was hysterical; saying odd things like, 'I can't feel him,' 'he's not there," and asking if he was dead? I'm not certain if she was speaking of her husband or the child she lost. I heard that he was here, however; admitted at the same time that she was. Anyway, Dr. Carter ended up having to sedate her in the end."

Ah, now it made sense.

"We couldn't make her believe that that her husband was fine. The doctor really had no choice," Elizabeth said in defense of the Carter's decision.

"It was probably for the best," Bruce reassured her. "Elle's been through far too much already in the past 24 hours. I would be more surprised if she hadn't broken down at some point." Although she had been pretty close to it the last time he had visited her.

Bruce felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't sent someone down to sit with her, but only Alfred knew the truth about the bonding. Not that Bruce had been thinking much of anything past what was happening inside of the operating room, but it _should_ have occurred to him. Dick's welfare was directly connected to Elle's well-being and vice-versa. This would take some getting used to.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll be up in the waiting room. If she happens to wake up, could you send word to me; particularly if she's still upset and you cannot calm her down?"

"Of course," Elizabeth, the nurse, agreed.

* * *

She watched as Mr. Wayne headed back in the direction of the elevator before returning to the nurses' station.

"Amber, where is that file on Grayson-Wayne in room 322?"

The nurse's aide pulled the chart and handed it to her.

"What's wrong," the younger woman asked.

Elizabeth flipped through the file. "I just wondered if anyone thought to call her family."

Amber looked back over her shoulder as she filled a water pitcher. "I thought her family was here already."

"Her husband's family, but not any of her own immediate family. I thought I remember seeing another next of kin listed," Elizabeth flipped to the form with personal history and stats. "He would probably appreciate knowing his daughter is in the hospital."

There is was . . . Cedric Hamilton. The number was long-distance, but Chicago wasn't so far away that the woman's father wouldn't want to come see her. He should know what his daughter had gone through if nothing else. Perhaps the police might have contacted him, but she was pretty certain that no one at the hospital had. Her father-in-law had simply taken over all decisions concerning the couple as soon as they arrived, apparently, so in the hustle and bustle, no one had thought to call the woman's father. The least she could do is relieve the man's mind.

She dialed and listened to the phone ring. She was put through to voicemail. She hated to leave messages like this to family members, so she gave the basic information, that his daughter was in the hospital, and a number that lead directly to the nurses' station with her name and hung up. Hopefully, her father would get the message before she went off shift this evening.

* * *

Twenty minutes after Bruce walked back into the surgical family waiting room, a nurse arrived and called Dick's name. Bruce met her next to the door that he knew led into the hallway that connected to the recovery room.

"I'm Richard Grayson-Wayne's father," he stated.

"My name is Jennifer," the middle-aged woman told him. "If you wish to visit with your son, you may do so now. Your visit will be short, you must understand. We normally try to discourage visitors when the patient is recovering from surgery, but he's awake and has been attempting to call for you and, I believe, his wife? Someone said that she was admitted through the emergency room at the same time."

"Yes, she was. I can relieve his mind about her condition, at least," Bruce said as he followed her into a large room laid out similar to the smaller Intensive Care Unit upstairs.

Here, however, instead of glass-partitioned, private rooms that surrounded a central nursing hub, the recovery room's central station was open to all of the beds with only curtain separating each bed from the other. It was a hive of activity, and yet a hush hovered over the area; the only noises were those of the machines that constantly monitored the vitals of each patient, or, included, in the case of Dick, the soft puff of the respirator.

"Perhaps you can calm him down," Jennifer said softly. "Each time he has come around, he's been fighting the respirator and has attempted to climb off of his gurney more than once. We would prefer not to have to strap his arms down if it isn't necessary."

After hearing about Elle's reaction to Dick's being sedated for surgery, Bruce wasn't surprised to hear that Dick was having a similar reaction now. He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at his boy. He wasn't a child anymore, but the sight of Dick lying so still and connected to various lines and tubes was . . . distressing.

He moved to the side of the bed and carefully picked up his son's hand so as not to disturb the Pulse-Ox on his finger. Dick's eyes were moving beneath the lids and occasionally his brow would crease into a frown; his throat worked as he tried to swallow around the breathing tube. He could see what the nurse was talking about. Even sedated, apparently Dick struggled.

No, not restful in the least.

Dick's eyes opened and he squeezed Bruce's hand to let him know he was awake. There were tears of panic in his eyes, and he reached up with his other hand to tug at the breathing tube. He made gagging sounds.

Bruce quickly grabbed his other hand. It took only a little effort to pull his hand away, but that would change the more awake and aware of his surroundings that Dick became. Bruce leaned down so that Dick could see him clearly as he spoke to him.

"Calm down," Bruce told him. "She's fine. The doctor had to sedate her while you were in surgery. Apparently the depth of unconsciousness to which the drugs took you prevented her from feeling you; much how she felt to you when the hitman knocked her out. She's in her room, sleeping."

Dick's breathing began to slow down as he searched Bruce's eyes for the truth.

"You need to relax. You will do her no good if she wakes to find out you're half-crazed with worry. You two seem to feed into one another's emotions, am I correct?"

The tension in his son's shoulders eased visibly and Dick nodded slightly. He couldn't do much more with the tube running down his throat. Bruce squeezed Dick's hand again.

"I'm looking after Elle until you're better. I promise; I won't let anything happen to her. I might even be able to sneak her up to see you later, but only if you stop fighting the doctors and nurses and concentrate on getting well." Bruce said to him.

Dick tried to swallow around the tube, and blinked once for yes, he would agree to that that arrangement. He didn't have to speak for Bruce to see the gratitude in his son's eyes. Certainly Dick had to know that Bruce would do far more than that to keep him safe and happy.

"You're welcome," he said. "They are going to chase me out of here soon." Nurse Jennifer was bearing down on him now, he could see out of the corner of his eye. "No pulling out tubes or needles. No throwing yourself off of gurneys. Just get better soon. If not for the rest of us, for Elle."

Dick blinked again.

"Oh, and by the way," Bruce smirked. "You two are married, according to the hospital files. If you remember any of this later, just go with it, okay?"

Dick's eyes widened, and he started to nod; wincing at the strain the tube placed on his trachea. He blinked instead.

Bruce straightened as the nurse approached Dick's bed.

"Behave and get some rest. I'll see you later in your room."

But Dick's eyes were sliding closed again as the anesthesia won the most recent battle and drew him back into its depths once more.

Jennifer was smiling at him; pleased. "I can see bringing you in was a good decision. Thank you. It was important that he be allowed to wake up. Having to sedate him again because of his agitation would have carried its own risks."

"When will he be taken back to his room," Bruce asked as he followed her back towards the waiting room.

"Another hour, I expect," she said over her shoulder. "As long as two, however, is possible, so don't be alarmed if it takes longer. You should take a walk in the hospital gardens or grab something to eat in the cafeteria while you wait."

The doors opened and Alfred, Tim, and Damian all leapt to their feet, anxious for Bruce's report. He glanced down at the nurse before she could leave.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me in to see him," he told her; remembering his manners.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Wayne." She smiled warmly at him before turning back to her job.

"How is he, Bruce," Tim asked as soon as the doors shut behind the nurse.

"You heard Leslie," Bruce was happy to reassure them. "He's going to be fine."

* * *

**REACTIONS?**


	96. Checkmate!

**WARNING: STRONG Language . . .**

* * *

The door to the penthouse slammed with unusual violence. It was followed by faint tinkling noises from the glass on display and the shifting of pictures on the connecting wall.

_Damn_ her . . . _**Damn her**_**!**

He tossed his keys on the sterling silver shell he kept on the side table for that purpose, and in almost the same movement, he then swiped the shell, the keys, and everything else on the table off; sending all of it flying! The keys and shell clattered first against a wall, leaving visible dents in the drywall and paint, before repeating the process on the floor. The picture frame broke and the glass shattered. The potted plant met its end the same way; black dirt staining the wall, the wood floor, and the Aubusson carpet.

How dare she lock him out of their father's office! The humiliation of being escorted out of Hamilton Industries' building by two security guards still colored his face. Aiden blew out a breath in frustration.

It had been a move worthy of . . . _him_.

He hadn't known she had it in her. First tossing him out of his position as the company's CEO, and now out of the company literally. He wondered a bit if Bella had done this in retaliation of his court order or if this had been put in place with her original move.

Aiden's eyes narrowed as he poured himself two fingers of a fine, malt whiskey. He quickly tossed it back, barely taking a moment to savor the burn before refilling the glass with more. He walked over to the window and leaned his forearm against the glass as he stared out at the winter gray waters of Lake Michigan.

Cedric had taught them both the game of chess. Aiden had never had the opportunity to play Bella . . . No, that was a lie. He had had numerous opportunities over the years to have played his sister, but had simply not wanted to. What challenge could a child thirteen years younger than he have presented him, after all?

He didn't think this was done in retaliation, however . . . No, he paused to take a sip of his drink. This was a part of her original move, he decided.

However, Aiden still wasn't interested in playing a game with her. He had gone straight for the kill . . . With this lawsuit. His lips turned up in a dark smile. Had this been a chess match, he would have immediately put her in check. This time next month, Aiden would have everything he had coming to him; everything their father had tried to deny him at the end of his life.

It was coming together nicely. He had three doctors, all prominent psychiatrists, lined up and paid off to go on the record stating the Arabella Loren Hamilton was incompetent and incapable of handling, not just the day-to-day running of a multimillion dollar company, but the details of her own life. He had paid huge 'bonuses' to several household employees to be 'witnesses' to his little sister's emotional breakdowns and mental instabilities over the course of her life.

He hadn't complete control over which judge would be appointed, but he had two in the court system in his pocket already, and everyone had a price. It would be a good investment if he needed to add a third to his payroll. Aiden was certain that at the end of four weeks' time, he would be settling into his father's old office even as Bella would be settling into her new, padded cell at an upscale mental facility several hundred miles north in the city of Sault Ste Marie on the Michigan/Canadian border.

In the meantime, Aiden still needed to get in touch with a couple of his father's business associates that were specifically involved with Hamilton Trading, but without access to Cedric's office . . . He would have to go through official channels. His name should push things along quickly enough, but Aiden preferred to go to the CEOs directly. It was a bit of a power play, but an important one if he were to accomplish his goals.

Going through secretaries and other underlings put him at a disadvantage and lost him valuable leverage. It placed him in the same category as other corporate leaders and made him and the person he was attempting to do business with equals; something he chose to avoid if possible, preferring to raise himself above his competition in the food chain, if you will, and giving him an unspoken advantage.

Aiden turned his head from the view many would kill to own and glanced into the depths of his apartment. Cedric kept an office here. He has seldom used it as he chose to go home to the estate whenever he could. But his father had the odd quirk of not keeping a rolodex. His secretary had one, but after the funeral, she had chosen to take a leave of absence from the company. But his father . . . Cedric had kept his business acquaintances and friends' information in his head. But . . . it was possible that he had also put it on his cell phone. It was a number that he gave to his most important contacts so that they could reach him directly.

His father had stayed here overnight after his last doctor visit. He had been terribly ill at the time, but Aiden couldn't imagine that he would have left something so valuable behind. Still, Cedric had had no need of it in those last few days. Anyone needing to contact him could reach him on his home phone.

It was worth a shot.

He moved down the hall to the corner office with a commanding view of both the city and the Great Lake. Opening the door, Aiden ignored the memories he had of the most powerful man he had ever known and began searching. He found it eventually in the center drawer of the desk. It had been locked, of course, but the key had been given to him by the lawyer. He had set it aside, unwilling to go through Cedric's desk before now.

The cell phone had needed charging, so he had plugged it in and went to work out his frustrations in the gym for the next hour. He only needed it on long enough to get out the information he needed. So, Aiden was a little surprised to see several messages listed in voicemail when he came back. He scrolled through them stopping to stare at the last one.

_Mercy Hospital_ . . .

He frowned. That was a Bludhaven area code listing. The time and date listed that it came in this morning at 10:23 am. Curious, he played the last message back.

An hour later he was boarding his private jet for Bludhaven. At a quarter til one o'clock, Aiden Hamilton was standing in Mercy Hospital outside of the door of room 322. He glanced around to see if anyone was looking in his direction. A full code was in progress at the end of the hall, providing him just the sort of distraction he needed.

He turned the handle and entered the room; no one on the floor being the wiser.

* * *

She was lying on her side facing away from him.

"What do you want," came her resigned reply.

She almost always knew when someone entered the room, even before they spoke. This no longer surprised him.

"What happened?"

She rolled over and sat up. The bruises on her face, however, did shock him. Bella always healed quickly from everything he had ever given her with the exception of the occasional broken bone. She had apparently been attacked in her home and taken to the park where her assailant had planned to, and almost succeeded in, killing her.

He only knew that she had been brought in early that morning. Over six hours and the bruise on her face showed no signs of fading as yet. _Damn_ . . .

"Don't pretend, Aiden. We're both too old for that game now."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He moved into the room a little further.

"There are no listening devices on me and no one is hanging out in my bathroom," she said to him, snidely. "Did you not hear the lawyer? Killing me would make no difference to you. Anything I inherited would go to Dick or our . . ." she swallowed. "Or to Bruce Wayne should something happen to the both of us."

He blinked. "Do you think **_I_** was behind this?"

Her lips tightened and turned down. She looked tired and . . . sad. Not that he cared, but he couldn't afford her spreading the tale that he was behind hiring someone to murder her.

"Who else," she asked.

He shrugged. "I would suspect it was someone who didn't like you. Someone other than me, that is."

Bella sighed and leaned her head back on the pillow; closing her eyes. "Fine, whatever, Aiden. Don't admit to it."

"I _didn't_ hire anyone to kill you," he snapped. "Did you not get the documents I had sent to you? I was told you signed for them."

"I did."

"Then it should be obvious to you that I have a better chance at regaining what belongs to me if you continue to live. My options, unfortunately, dwindle to zero should you die." Aiden replied.

"Or perhaps you realized you cannot win and decided to use this legal ploy as a means to throw off the police," She snapped back. "You made a mistake going after Dick, however. I won't let that pass."

"Your threats don't scare me, little girl," he growled.

"_Yet_, Aiden," Bella glared at him. "My threats don't scare you _yet_."

"You know that I don't even have to win the hearing to win the game," Aiden told her; a little smugly to be honest. "The board of directors and the stockholders won't like the kind of publicity that this will generate. They may overrule the will, and give me back the company's position voluntarily. Better the known quantity that they've seen succeed than the possibly unstable girl who has yet to be tested."

"Poppa's will . . ."

"_Father's_ will has little to do with it. The power is with the board and, ultimately, with the stockholders. If they do not support Father's will, there is little the law can do about it." Aiden interrupted her.

"You would _do_ this? Go against his wishes like this," Bella asked.

"Since when have you cared for Father's wishes," he countered.

"I've done what he's asked me to all of my life, Aiden. It was time for me to get out from under his wing and fly for myself," Bella stated. "I never wanted this and you know it. As usual, Poppa finds a way to get what he wants. I won't allow his company to falter, and he knew that."

Aiden walked over to the window and looked out at the uninspiring view of the hospital's west parking lot. "Father has shown me how he believes loyalty should be rewarded. I've learned my lessons well."

Bella was silent for a long moment, and the room felt heavy with things still left unsaid. He heard her blow out a breath in frustration. Honestly, he was a little surprised she hadn't used the call light to have him bodily removed from her room.

"I can't believe you flew down here from Chicago for this," she indicated the room. "Why _are_ you here . . . Really?"

"You are a surprise, Bella," Aiden muttered. "A bitch, but one full of surprises."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was a demon."

He shrugged. "A demon-bitch . . . That's as good as a description as any."

"Of the two of us, it was not the demon-bitch that threatened to choke the life out of the other one," she commented; pulling up her knees under the blanket and wrapping her arms around them.

"A fit of temper," he told her, unconcerned.

Bella shook her head at him. "You know, Aiden, you should really consider taking an anger management class."

He inclined his head. "Perhaps," he conceded the point. "I must admit that I wasn't expecting you to rush right out and get married, Bella. How'd you manage that? You couldn't have gotten the summons earlier than yesterday."

Bella blinked at him; staring. He thought she wasn't going to answer for a moment.

"It happened some time ago," she said softly after a while; a thoughtful expression on her face.

He hummed in acknowledgement to her reluctant admittance. "It won't make a difference."

She suddenly smirked at him. "It already has. In fact, you flew all the way down here just to hear me say it, didn't you?"

Aiden frowned at her. "Say what?"

Bella turned back the covers and picked up the plain, white cotton robe the hospital supplied her with; sliding it on over the gown she wore. She slid her feet into the crappy, disposable paper slippers on the floor and stood up. Aiden noted the fading bruises and scrapes that covered her legs and feet still. Whoever he was, the bastard had done a bang-up job.

"Where are you going?"

"To see my _husband_," she said without looking at him.

He stopped her at the door with his question. "What were you going to say?"

Bella ignored him, pausing only to tug her long, dark locks from beneath the robe. She reached for the door and stepped into the corridor.

"Goddamn it! Say what, Bella? What the hell were you going to say?"

Aiden moved toward her; grabbing her arm roughly and tugging her back into the privacy of the room. Bella jerked her arm out of his grip. He watched her wince, and knew he just added to the kaleidoscope of colors that now decorated her body.

"No! You don't get to do that anymore," Bella backed away from him and toward the door a second time.

He ignored her statement and narrowed his eyes.

"I flew all the way down here to hear you say it," he repeated her words, suspiciously. He thought, abruptly, he knew what it was she had been about to say. "_Damn you_! This isn't a fucking chess game, you know."

She opened the door and stepped back out into the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder at him.

"Maybe not, Aiden, but if it was . . ." Bella smiled smugly, and laughed.

"Don't you dare say it."

"But you asked me so prettily . . ."

"Bella," he growled warningly; following her out. "This isn't finished by a long shot."

"Oh, I think it is," she walked to the bank of elevators; stepping into one just as another couple exited.

Aiden stood there. The tiny girl he had bullied and abused no longer cowered in his presence. The woman she had become pressed a button and met his eyes without flinching. Somewhere along the line, when he hadn't been paying attention, his little sister had grown up and discovered her spine.

And then, just before the doors closed, Bella smiled again and said it.

Just to fucking annoy him, she went and said it.

"Checkmate."

Her laughter that followed was muffled by the elevator doors, but he heard it.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Hm . . . Questions and answers. Do you believe him; that he didn't have anything to do with hiring Nameless? Or is he just blowing smoke? If it isn't Aiden behind the attack, then who is?**

**How many of you enjoyed Elle's checkmating her brother? Wasn't that fun?**

**Remember that without adversity and hardships and bad experiences we would never grow up or grow stronger . . . Something to think about, hm? Even the bad stuff can have a good outcome if we learn from it.**


	97. Come Away With Me

**The song "Come Away With Me" was written by Norah Jones for the album of the same name and released in December 2002 under the label Blue Note. It is listed under Pop/Jazz, and one of the songs that inspired me when I first began developing Elle's character. Pull it up and listen to it when you get to that part of the chapter and imagine her singing this to Dick . . . (Nope, I don't own the song either. Although I can write poetry, song writing itself still eludes me.)**

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

Elle stood just inside of ICU, her eyes scanning the numerous rooms that surrounded the centralized nurses' station. The silence was only disturbed by the beeping of monitors, the hushed sound of respirators, the low moans of pain, and quiet weeping of helpless family members. She found it deeply unsettling. She understood that quiet was needed so that patients could rest, but the muted sounds of others suffering could hardly be conducive to healing.

Sympathetic tears blurred her vision, and she blinked. These poor people didn't need to hear the sounds of her weeping. She was beginning to understand a little of the power her voice carried. She would do more harm than good if she didn't control her own emotions ruthlessly. Moreover, Dick was here. He would certainly feel her distress and become upset.

Elle shoved her own pain down deep and focused on the comfort and care of others to distract herself.

She was met by a nurse as she stepped further into the unit.

"I'm sorry," the woman, Suzanne her tag read, told her. "Only family members are allowed in here." She drew Elle to the station, recognizing her as another patient. "Are you lost? I can have someone escort you back to your own room."

One could see into each room from the circular station. Elle searched the beds for a familiar figure. He was here. She could feel him. He was in pain, despite the drugs that kept him quiet and his thoughts disorganized.

"My husband is here," she whispered; using Bruce's lie to her advantage. They might have allowed her to remain as a mere fiancée, but Elle preferred to err on the side of safety.

"Oh?" Suzanne was immediately solicitous. Her eyes widened as she connected patient information in her mind. Only one patient had a wife who had also been admitted recently. "Are you Mrs. Grayson-Wayne?"

There was a twinge in the vicinity of her heart at the title.

"I am," she confirmed softly.

The sounds of the unit were bothering her on a level that defied explanation. The unit was dedicated to the care and welfare of its patients, but the sounds were becoming increasingly distressing. Dick could hardly be expected to heal in this environment.

"Please, I need to see him," she said so quietly that the nurse had to lean in to hear her.

"Of course," Suzanne led her to the left, and there he was.

Elle's breath caught at the sight of so many tube and wires. He was on a respirator? Oh, God . . . But she supposed that made sense as memories of his injury slammed into her. She stumbled, and the nurse caught her arm.

"Perhaps you should return to your room until you are a little stronger," the nurse suggested.

Elle shook head. She steeled her spine and entered the room. There were no doors to any of the rooms, just the half wall with its glass partitions. There was a chair near the corner. She pulled it to the bedside, wincing at the scrape it made. She quickly sat; her knees no longer feeling capable of supporting her.

Her fingers slipped into Dick's and a tension that hadn't been noticeable before now eased away. Dick's blood pressure lowered by several points. A small smile lifted her lips. He felt it, too, even if his eyes didn't open.

Suzanne made a note of Dick's BP. "You're better than the pain medication," she remarked. "He's only allowed visitors for fifteen minutes at a time. I'll come back later to remind you."

Elle nodded, but didn't answer. Her grief was threatening to overwhelm her once more now that she could see him. He didn't know about their loss, and as far as she was concerned, it was better if he never did. But Bruce was right that he would be aware that something was upsetting her.

She watched as Dick's blood pressure began to creep upwards again in response.

As she usually did when life became too much to bear, Elle turned to music. She began humming. The numbers stopped rising and hovered. After a minute or so, they began to sink again. His heart rate slowed as well as the sound of her voice relaxed him.

So Elle opened her mouth and sang softly to him.

"Come away with me in the night  
Come away with me  
And I will write you a song

Come away with me on a bus  
Come away where they can't tempt us  
With their lies

I want to walk with you  
On a cloudy day  
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high  
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss  
On a mountaintop  
Come away with me  
And I'll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up with the rain  
Falling on a tin roof  
While I'm safe there in your arms  
So all I ask is for you  
To come away with me in the night  
Come away with me . . ."

* * *

Bruce entered the Intensive Care Unit. He had spent the last hour waiting to see his son in the cafeteria. Leslie had texted him to let him know that Dick was now settled in and would be allowed one or two visitors for about fifteen minutes.

He had left the boys and Alfred in the waiting room. He would only stay a few minutes in order to allow Alfred and Tim the chance to see him. Damian was still angry that his young age prevented him from going in, but was grudgingly appeased with the knowledge that he would be able to see his older brother as soon as he was stable enough to be given a regular room.

He hesitated, alarmed, at the sight of several nurses surrounding the entrance to his son's room. But then he heard it . . . Singing.

Sweet, soft, and gentle.

Elle had found her way up here.

Reassured that if something was wrong, she wouldn't be singing, he moved toward the crowd. One of the nurses spotted him and moved to intercept him.

"I'm here to see my son," he told her. "I believe that is my daughter-in-law that I hear singing."

Suzanne smiled at him. "It is amazing," she said. "Just her presence alone seemed help his vitals to improve, but when she began singing to him . . ."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. Arthur had suggested that her voice still had power, muted though it was.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Not just your son's vitals began to improve."

Suzanne waved her hand and Bruce noted that one or two family members were standing in the doorways of their loved ones' rooms and others were smiling even as they sat near the beds of those they visited.

"Everyone's vitals have reflected improvement over the last thirty minutes or so. Even people in too much pain to be easily controlled have relaxed enough to fall asleep," she confided. "It is amazing."

"Thirty minutes? Does that mean he won't be allowed any more visitors?" Bruce asked.

Suzanne frowned. "That rule is put into place so that the patients can rest, but . . . it appears that they've gotten more rest in the last half hour than in their entire stay. I see no reason you cannot stay a little bit. His wife has overstayed her own time limit, but I don't think anyone here will insist on her leaving if she chooses to stay. Not if she continues to serenade everyone."

"She _does_ have that effect on people," Bruce agreed.

"If they could bottle that . . ." the nurse smiled. "You know, we haven't had one request for more pain medication since she began."

He made his way over and the nurses dispersed. Elle's voice faltered when she saw him. She started to stand, but Bruce waved her back into the chair and she continued the song she was singing.

Dick looked better, he thought. His eyes were closed, and if he wasn't actually sleeping, at least he was no longer fighting the breathing tube or trying to climb out of bed.

Another chair was brought in. No one thought to ask Elle to leave. Bruce or Tim brought her water to ease her throat. It wasn't until hours later that one of the nurses suggested she go back to her own room to rest. It was a testament to her own exhaustion that she did so without argument.

* * *

Leslie walked out and discovered Bruce still in the waiting room at five that evening.

"I hope I don't feel as tired as you look," she told him.

Bruce stood to meet her, but she waved him back into his chair and sat down next to him. She imitated his posture, leaning forward with elbows on her knees. He held out his cup of coffee.

"It's a new cup," he told her. "Black."

"Like the night?" Leslie smirked. It was a running joke between them

"Is there any other way?" He smiled as he handed it to her.

"Mm," she moaned in appreciation. "That hits the spot. It's nothing like Alfred's ambrosia, but the caffeine does what it's supposed to do." She looked at him. "You need to go home."

"You're still here," he pointed out.

"I've left and came back," she said. "And I plan to go home after this."

Bruce grimaced. "I'm sorry, Leslie. I should have provided you with transportation at least. I wasn't thinking."

"You had enough on your mind, I'm certain," she bumped his shoulder lightly.

He nodded. "Once the tube is removed I plan to go back out. There is evidence waiting to lead me to the person who hired our nameless assassin. I just have to find it."

"Will he be receiving a visitor tonight?" She wondered aloud.

"Likely," he acknowledged.

"Should I be worried?"

"He's a patient here. If it makes you feel better, I'll hit his call light before I leave," Bruce growled.

"What would make me feel better is if you went home and got some sleep tonight," she reminded him. "And the tube is out, by the way. I just removed it an hour ago."

Bruce frowned at that information. "I thought you said he would need it twelve hours at least."

"I did, and that would have been valid in any other case," Leslie told him. "It was amazing what I found, Bruce."

"Don't keep me in suspense. What is it," he coaxed, although some might have described it as demanded, if they didn't know him as well as the elder woman sitting beside him.

"Dick looks like he's been healing for longer than a mere six hours from his surgery. I'm seeing the kind of recovery that normally takes more than a day to achieve. It is . . . astounding, and completely illogical. I've done this sort of surgery before . . . On you, in fact, and he has already bypassed all expectations." She shook her head. "It is beyond any explanation than I can give you."

"Not any explanation," he murmured.

Leslie sat up and stared at him. "You know something."

Bruce sat up next. "Maybe."

"I've been taking care of the two of you for years, and although the two of you seem to plow through normal recoveries faster than the average Joe, this is still beyond anything I would have expected to find with either of you." Leslie handed back an empty cup.

Bruce took it and tossed it at the trashcan across the room. It hit the top of the rotating lid and was dumped in as neat as a pin.

"Show off," she muttered; leaning back and crossing her arms. "Do you have something you would like to share with me, perhaps?"

"It's only a theory at this point," he admitted.

"Really. Anything to do with a certain Mrs. Grayson-Wayne, whom I'm told spend hours up here singing to Dick and the rest of the ICU ward?"

Bruce pursed his lips, but remained closed-mouthed.

"I would have laid into the staff had I not seen with my own eyes that every patient in there had shown distinct signs of improvement," She narrowed her eyes at him. "What don't I know about this young woman?"

"What have you been told?" Bruce avoided answering her question with a question of his own.

She knew what he was doing, but decided to allow it this time.

"I was told that her voice seemed to soothe the patients. That while she was there, there had been no requests for painkillers; that blood pressure and heartrates dropped or rose into the normal range; that many patients who had been unable to rest properly because of the level of discomfort they were in had fallen asleep without a sleep aid." Leslie frowned. "Are you telling me that this young woman has the ability to heal people with her voice?"

"Has anyone gotten out of bed and walked out of the unit?" Bruce countered.

"Well, no, of course not," Leslie scoffed. "But they are definitely none the worse off for being serenaded. All of them are better than they were, but other than Dick, there has been no miraculous signs of recovery."

"Is Dick ready to be moved out of ICU, then?"

Leslie sighed and relaxed. "Not tonight as much as I might like to do so. But first thing tomorrow for certain."

"Wasn't that your plan, anyway," Bruce asked her.

She threw her hands up in defeat. "Yes, that was the plan."

"And your point is?"

"My point is that I _could_ move him out of ICU tonight if I wanted to," she told him succinctly. "He is that much improved. But I don't trust miracles as much as the next person without a scientific explanation."

Bruce laughed. "Isn't that the definition of a miracle, Leslie? That it defies scientific explanation?"

"You know exactly what I mean, mister," she stood up. "You are the same way that I am. We just need to understand the mechanism behind it is all."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Bruce said softly, kneading her shoulders.

Leslie's head dropped to the side, and she groaned. "That is heavenly," she sighed. "All right. All right. In lieu of my getting an explanation, I will settle for you having it instead, but don't think for a moment that this conversation is over."

"Fine," Bruce crooned soothingly. "We'll discuss it over lunch sometime . . . _After_ Dick is released."

"From ICU?"

"From the hospital," he clarified.

"Hm," she hummed. "I want an introduction to the _wife_ as well."

"I think that can be arranged," he said.

"Well, that is that, then," Leslie shrugged off Bruce's hands reluctantly. She was stiff and sore today. "I'm heading back to Gotham." She held up a hand. "I will drive myself, thank you."

"No," Bruce countered. "Thank _you_, Leslie, for pulling his ass out of the fire once again."

"I'd just as soon he, and _you_ for that matter, stop jumping into every blaze you see," she replied. "And you're welcome. Now, you should take your own advice and call for someone to drive you home. You look exhausted and you won't be doing that young man any good if you land yourself in here beside him."

"Consider your advice taken, doctor," Bruce assured her.

Leslie looked unconvinced, but left anyway. She learned a long time ago that Bruce Wayne did whatever Bruce Wayne wanted and the rest of the world be damned.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Today will be a two-fer. The next chapter is out now. I worked on these two chapters together and as such, they were finished together. So, reward me with some reviews, all right?**


	98. Wrong

**Today is a TWO-FER! Make certain you don't miss the previous chapter. :D**

**WARNING: A Bit of Strong Language . . .**

* * *

The yellow police tape was gone when Dick and Elle stepped off the elevator onto the eleventh floor. Bruce and Alfred and the boys had wanted to help them get settled in, but the couple had nixed that idea. They both knew that their homecoming would be an emotional affair, and they wanted to have privacy for that; although they had talked about the distraction that having company would provide, it would only push back the inevitable. Elle simply preferred to deal with it alone.

It was only a few feet from the elevator that she began shaking. Dick was immediately solicitous, but it wasn't their door that she was staring at, but that of their neighbor's. Her chin wobbled dangerously and her eyes welled quickly with tears. It took Dick a moment to remember that the husband of the couple living next door to them had been killed when he had responded to Elle's screams that night.

"Are you going to be alright," he asked, wondering if they should have taken Bruce up on his offer to take them in for a few days after all.

"H-He t-tried to help m-me," she began sobbing into Dick's shoulder.

His arms tightened around her. This had to be just one of the many reasons behind Elle's fluctuating emotions; that deep grief that he couldn't seem to touch. For the first couple of days after the surgery, she had managed to keep most of it at bay, but he felt it brush over his soul at odd times. He could only guess what horrors she had been put through that day. He had so foolishly chosen to ignore the fear he had felt in his concern for Bruce and that night's mission; guessing that it was something as inconsequential as a bad dream.

He had thought her safe at home in bed; taken comfort in that her building had security. It had taken him a while to understand how the pain had escaped his notice until he learned that the assassin had been after him, too. His beautiful Elle had realized that and tried to dampen what he had been feeling in an attempt to keep him safe and prevent him from coming back in the middle of it all, to possibly his own death.

She had foolishly thought he could survive without her. He knew better . . . Hopefully now, so did she.

"Do you want to go to the manor tonight instead," he asked her softly. "We don't have to come back here at all, you know. We can look for a new place and I can arrange for our things to be moved without you ever having to step foot back into the apartment."

"No," she shook her head even as she clutched at his jacket. "Mook's been by himself for several days."

He smiled against her hair; tightening his hold on her. "Bruce said Alfred oversaw the cleaning of the apartment while we were laid up. He would have seen to it that Mook was fed."

"Are you sure?" She looked up at him warily.

Nothing could be worse than if they returned to discover a dead tarantula in their apartment. Alfred hadn't mentioned the spider, however, and Dick suddenly was concerned that maybe the little beasty had either escaped during the home invasion or might have indeed perished. But no, if Alfred had discovered a dead tarantula, or even a live one, the man would have mentioned it.

"Do you want to wait out here while I check," he offered, hoping she would let him.

Elle shook her head. "_No_! Don't go in without me!"

"What?" he glanced down at the sound of barely restrained panic.

"Just . . . just don't," she said, refusing to explain herself. "We do it together."

He nodded. "Sure, baby. Whatever you want."

"Don't call me that," she asked him.

"You never minded before?"

She grimaced. "Don't patronize me, Dick."

He sighed, reaching deep for patience. She just went through an agonizing and terrifying ordeal. He needed to make allowances for her upset. This had to be incredibly hard on her.

"Sorry," he mumbled into her hair. _Don't say anything else_ . . .

They approached their apartment together with the trepidation of entering a house of horror. The memories as frightening as any ghosts.

The door to their left opened and another neighbor stepped out into the hall with her son. The little boy with the boa constrictor named Turtle, Dick reasoned. This must be David.

"Oh! You're both back," the woman exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

Elle straightened and smiled at her and the little boy. "Hello, Claudia, David. We've recovered very nicely, thank you."

Claudia returned the smile. "We weren't sure how long you'd be gone, so we asked the superintendent to let us take care of Bob until you returned. We have him in his old terrarium in our apartment."

_Bob_? Oh, she meant Mook . . . Elle must not have told her of the arachnid's name change.

A lot of Elle's tension seemed to slip away at the news. "Oh, thank you, Claudia! You cannot know how much that means to us. I was so worried about him."

Elle, a little more worried than Dick, but he was still thankful he wouldn't be walking into the apartment to a dead spider. Still, he was kind of growing fond of the furry, little beastie. He kept his mouth shut; and not just for the boy's sake. Elle often smacked his arm or shoulder when he called the tarantula anything other than his newly-bestowed moniker.

"It's no problem," she assured them. "I have to run. David has a dentist checkup right now, but you can pick up Bob anytime this evening."

"Uh, h-how is . . ." Elle glanced over her shoulder at the neighbor's door on their right.

Claudia's face fell a little, and pulled David against her side in an unconscious move. "She left the next day, I heard. Hasn't been back since that I know of."

An awkward silence fell over them.

Dick felt Elle's trembling return. "We appreciate you taking care of M- . . . Bob for us," he said. "I'll come over sometime after six to get him."

Claudia nodded. She hesitated, and then spoke quickly. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you," she told Elle.

Elle plastered on a watery smile; giving Dick a one-armed hug. "Dick saved me," she admitted softly. "Almost did himself in in the process, though."

Claudia's eyes met his, curiously, but didn't ask. "I guess having a police officer as your significant other can come in handy," she said, with false cheer.

Elle didn't seem to notice the other woman's discomfort. Dick figured that the neighbor thought that his work had followed him home that night. He didn't blame her for the misconception. The truth of the matter wasn't anymore reassuring.

"He's my hero," Elle told her, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

He kissed her forehead. He couldn't help it. Those looks had to be rewarded.

"We'll let you go," Dick said; eager to bring the uncomfortable conversation to an end.

They had a traumatic afternoon to look forward to, and he wanted to get it done and over with, and maybe they could call for a pizza and spend the evening in bed. For all that they spent the last couple of days sharing a hospital room; it didn't provide the same comfort as cuddling together in their own bed under several layers of blankets.

They moved back to their door as Dick produced the key to the new lock. Claudia and David moved passed them toward the elevator. He was thankful for them for the distraction, however. It made entering the apartment less intimidating; the dread they had both been feeling had dissipated somewhat.

Elle stood there hugging herself as Dick closed and locked the door behind them. There was a new deadbolt that had been missing before and a security bar-latch to replace the previous chain. Dick had his own ideas for adding an extra measure of security; something he would look into tomorrow.

He turned around as she stared at the newly cleaned living space. Dick noticed several things that were missing or had been replaced; the new side table that stood in place of the one that had been the catch-all for their keys and mail and where they charged their cell phones was the most prominent difference. Books and movies had been returned to their shelves, but in different locations than before. Pieces of pottery were gone and new picture frames accented personal photos. Personal effects were in the wrong place.

It was surreal and more than a little disturbing.

Dick hadn't been present when these things had been destroyed or damaged. He had only caught the barest glimpse of the mess the apartment had been when he had first arrived on the scene. But now it gave him the willies, seeing the place put back together . . . _wrong_. Instead of making it less obvious that an intruder had been here, as he was certain Alfred had intended; it made it almost glaringly so.

The apartment was chilly, making it feel even less inviting. Dick moved to the thermostat and cranked it up. He wondered how long they would be here before Elle agreed to move. He didn't have to ask. It was only a matter of time before it happened. If he felt this uncomfortable; how much more would she?

As he suspected, the two of them spent the first day and night within the confines of the bedroom. Nothing in here had been touched during the home-invasion, although Dick noticed evidence of the forensic guys' presence, even in here. Luckily, Elle didn't seem to notice.

It have been a quiet evening with only a bit of music playing. Dick had brought Mook back to his own terrarium in the living room; a piece that had managed to escape without damage. He tossed in a couple of crickets that Claudia had given him from their stock, and returned to the bedroom with Elle.

* * *

Sleep had been elusive for him; not that he hadn't been tired. Dick was exhausted. But Elle's emotions were all over the place. She went from numb to frightened; from uncomfortable to grief-stricken. When he had fallen asleep, he had dreamed of watching her weep from afar; unable to draw near enough to comfort her. She had been inconsolable, and when he had awoken later, it was with tears staining his own face.

Elle had been turned away from him, so Dick had rolled over against her back and wrapped his arm around her. He entangled his legs with hers and drew the blankets up to their chins and settled in for a long night. She had cried several times throughout the night. And although she had allowed him to hold her, Elle had not turned to him . . . not even once.

He felt so helpless in the face of her emotional turmoil, and anger against the nameless assassin grew in his breast. What had been done to her? He could only guess because Elle wasn't talking; at least not yet. He hoped she would eventually. He hoped she would with him. While he didn't relish hearing about all the ways he had failed her that night, he knew that the confession would be cathartic for her . . . And hopefully, in some ways, for him as well.

* * *

The department had let him off for six weeks to recover. Then he would be back to the joys of paper pushing for the foreseeable future, until his sergeant was reasonably assured of his return to his previous health. But it wasn't his physical health that was a problem.

By the end of the first week, he was ready to pull out his hair.

He had helped Elle reorganize the living room to more closely reflect the way it had been before. They had gone shopping one day to replace a few knick-knacks together; hoping to create some new memories in the process. All in all, it hadn't been a bad afternoon, but Elle was still suffering; still sad in ways that Dick didn't understand. Worse; ways she refused to help him understand.

She hadn't allowed him to do more than hold her at night, and he was getting scared that the attack had been more than Elle had let on. When he kissed her, she allowed it, but what little passion had been aroused was only on his side. When his hands would stroke her, Elle would catch them and move them to lay still on her hip or her stomach. And when, after a few days, he had gently pressed the issue, he had been left sitting alone in their bed in dismay as Elle had fled to the bathroom to cry.

Bruce had taken over the decision making when the two of them had first arrived at the hospital. He had spoken to the doctors of each of them; going so far as to claim them already married so he would have a say in the care of each of them and be kept apprised of their condition. Bruce would know if the doctors had discovered what Dick was, himself, strongly suspecting. He had to swallow his upset and anger that Bruce had kept such an important piece of information away from him. Dick still held out hope that he was somehow wrong . . . But what else could be making his Elle react to his advances in this way?

He dialed Bruce's cell and waited; his thoughts unwillingly traveling back to Elle's condition when he and Tim had found her at the bottom of the ravine. Just tiny scraps of material and a short, silk robe was all the covering she had on. He hadn't looked; hadn't thought to look at more than her more obvious injuries. It had been freezing cold, and he had only thought to cover her up and get her warm.

"Dick? What's wrong," Bruce's voice came over the phone.

Direct and to the point. No greeting or pleasantries. After what had occurred, Bruce probably could only imagine the trouble that was bound to follow. No thought that Dick was calling him to grab lunch together.

Perhaps he knew more of what was going on in Dick's home than Dick himself . . .

"Bruce, do you have a few minutes? I need to ask you something," Dick came right out.

There was the slightest hesitation, and then Dick could hear him making excuses over the phone line. Great. He had interrupted a meeting.

It took only a couple of minutes, and the sound of a door closing before Bruce came back on the line.

"Go ahead," he told him.

"Y-You spoke to Elle's doctor after we were brought in." It was a statement. Dick knew damn well that he did. Bruce had told him as much. "He told you about Elle's condition."

A pause . . . It was not the reassuring kind.

"He spoke to me, yes."

No other information was forthcoming. Bruce was waiting; obviously unsure of what all Dick knew and unwilling to accidentally let something slip he didn't want his son to know about.

Ice settled into Dick's stomach. "Did you tell me everything he said about her?"

"Have you spoken to Elle about this?"

Dick closed his eyes. Bruce was avoiding answering his question. He knew . . . something.

"I'm asking _you_," Dick told him, his voice sharp. "What exactly did the doctor tell you happened to her?"

"Dick, you know all of this. Why are you calling?"

He felt sick.

"Did . . ." he swallowed hard, and tried again. "D-Did that bastard . . . ? _Ah, God_," Dick dropped his head in his free hand. He was shaking, and it was coming through in his voice. He struggled to calm himself.

"Bruce, did he . . . do something to Elle . . . Something . . . sexual?"

"What?" Bruce's voice sounded vaguely surprised. Because Dick figured it out or . . .?

"Did that bastard _rape_ her," he suddenly snarled into the phone.

Dick could hear Bruce's breath catch.

"Oh no! _God_, no, Dick," he assured him quickly, relief in his voice. "No, he didn't. Elle was physically assaulted, but not sexually. Did you really think . . . What made you think this?"

"You're sure? You aren't hiding this from me, are you; thinking that I might try to kill that son of bitch?" Dick gasped out. "You need to tell me the truth!"

"Dick, I promise you, nothing like that happened according to the doctor," Bruce told him.

"Then why . . .?" He cut himself off. Relief warred with confusion and worry. The fear didn't leave; it only redirected itself.

"Why . . . What, Dick?" Bruce's voice was soft now. Inquiring. He was worried. This was why he had wanted them to come back to the manor after leaving the hospital.

"Nothing . . . It's nothing," Dick mumbled. "If you're sure . . .?"

"I'm positive, Dick. It is standard procedure in these events to check for sexual assault. There was nothing that pointed to that scenario." Bruce sighed. "Dick, why did you suspect this in the first place?"

"She's distant," Dick admitted. "I mean, she lets me hold her, but . . ." God, he didn't want to go into this . . . Not with anyone, but particularly not with Bruce. "But that's it. She shies away from anything intimate. And last night . . . She ran away from me to cry in the bathroom.

"I can't sleep at night without dreaming about her weeping; grieving for something . . . It's like the knowledge is right there, but hidden somehow; just out of sight. And I can't ever reach her," Dick gasped out. "I don't know how to help her, Bruce! I don't know what I need to do to make this better!"

"Dick, I'm . . . sorry," Bruce answered helplessly.

Dick frowned. Bruce never answered helplessly. "You _know_ something," he accused him.

"No."

"Don't _lie_ to me," Dick growled. "Not about this! Not about Elle! Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is! If you know, then you damn well better tell me!"

"I . . . I can't, chum," Bruce said, defeated. "I'm sorry, but this is something that you are going to have to work out with Elle for yourself."

"What the fuck," Dick burst out.

"_I promised her_," Bruce interrupted his tirade before it could get out of hand. "I'm sorry, Dick, but I promised her I wouldn't say anything."

"You _talked_ with her about this . . . this thing? She told you what it is?" Dick couldn't believe it.

"I advised her to talk with you about it," Bruce told him. "Elle . . . She thinks she's protecting you, Dick. I'm sorry. That's all I can tell you. I probably shouldn't have said that much." He sighed. "I need to go. I was in a meeting when you called and they're waiting. Just . . . I don't know. I'm not the right one to ask about stuff like this. You're just going to have to talk to her."

Dick blew out a breath in frustration, and leaned back on the couch. "Right. Talk to her. Okay. For what it's worth, thanks, Bruce."

"You don't have to thank me. I didn't do anything," he answered apologetically.

"You took the call," Dick said. "I appreciate that."

"I'll _always_ take the call," Bruce said softly. "Good luck."

The line went dead as Bruce hung up, and Dick stared at the ceiling. One worry was relieved, only to have another raise its head in its place. But he was grateful. Elle hadn't been raped . . . For that he could only thank the heavens.

He closed his eyes as he breathed through it. Now, he knew at least that he wasn't imagining it. Something else had happened that drew Elle away from him when he knew that she needed him most. He frowned in thought.

This wouldn't be easy. Elle's already proven she can keep a secret.

* * *

**REACTIONS?**

**Ah, we all knew this would happen, didn't we? He suspects . . . _something_ . . . is wrong. **


	99. Secrets

**WARNING: Some STRONG Language; Emotionally-Charged Scenes . . .**

* * *

Dick was in the extra bedroom going through his gear. He lost the top to one of his three uniforms. It wasn't something he could repair himself, so Alfred had promised to make a new one for him over the next few days and deliver it. He was basically grounded from patrol for another two weeks before Leslie would give him leave to go out again. Normally, he would go as soon as he felt up to it, but Elle would throw a fit if he tried to patrol before Leslie allowed it.

"Dick?"

He turned his head and saw Elle leaning against the doorjamb.

"What's up, Ba- . . ." he swallowed the endearment.

"I was wondering, when do you think we would be able to resume my self-defense classes," she asked softly.

He caught his breath. Of course, she would want to prevent this from ever happening again. If she couldn't count of him to protect her . . . Guilt washed over him again. He had failed her spectacularly this time.

"I can show you a few things this afternoon if you like," he said over his shoulder as he began restocking his utility compartments in his gloves and boot; unable to face her.

Suddenly her hands slid around his waist; startling him. It was the first time she had come to him for affection in days; the first time she had chosen to touch him rather than merely react to his embraces. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her, but didn't move for fear she would retreat.

She leaned into him; laying her head on the back of his shoulder and hugging him from behind.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. Please, don't blame yourself. Please, Dick."

He set down the items he was holding and reached up to stroke her arms. He held her there, just relishing her touch. He didn't believe her, but he wouldn't refuse any contact at this point.

"I should have been there for you," he said. "I should have trained you harder; taught you more. Damian was right."

She shifted position; settling her chin on his shoulder and peering at the side of his face. "What was Damian right about?"

"You need to learn more offense. You need to know more than how to break a hold; you need to know how to neutralize and immobilize your attacker." Dick dropped his head down into his hand. "I've been so stupid. I could have lost you."

"No! Don't do this," Elle begged him. "If we're passing out blame, then how much more of it belongs to me?"

"You?" Dick turned around to face her. "You should be able to feel safe in your own home!"

"This guy didn't knock on my door by accident, Dick," Elle told him. "He came here specifically for me. Yes, he was after the both of us, but the things he said made me believe that I was the primary target; not you. I was the reason he was hired. This was my fault."

"No, your brother . . ."

"Wasn't the one who hired him," she interrupted that train of thought.

"How do you know? Who else could it have been?" Dick frowned.

Elle shrugged. "I don't know who else could have been behind it. But Aiden . . . Well, he might have stopped by my room at the hospital."

Dick leapt to his feet; scowling down at her. "He what?!"

She blinked in surprise. "We talked. That was all . . . just talked."

"What could he have wanted to talk about?" Dick glared at her. "How the _hell_ did he even know you were in the hospital unless he was the one who had hired the guy?"

"Apparently, the nurse called and left a message on Poppa's cell phone. Poppa had left it in Aiden's apartment a week before he died," she explained. "Anyway, he said he was curious to know who had wanted to kill me."

"As far as I know, _he's_ the only one who'd celebrate if something happened to you," Dick growled.

Elle looked away. "That's not entirely true," she said hesitantly.

"Really? And how do you figure that?"

"If I died, Aiden would lose his chance to regain his position in the company." At Dick's confusion, Elle continued. "If something happened to me, Poppa's majority shares would pass directly to you and from you to Bruce. Aiden would never be able to get his hands on it."

He was shaking his head. "He still can't touch it. The company belongs to you now, Elle. You own controlling interest."

Elle turned away and rubbed the back of her neck. "Uh, yeah . . . About that . . ."

"About what?" He stared at her retreating back.

"There's something else that you should probably know."

She moved out of the spare bedroom and back into the living room. Dick followed her; closing the door behind him.

"Something else? Elle? What's going on?"

She moved past the seating arrangement and into the space she had designated for her office. Opening a drawer, Elle pulled out an envelope and tossed it on top of her desk.

"That came by special messenger the night of the attack," she backed away from it, to give Dick the space to pick it up and slide the documents inside the envelope out. "It's a court order for a competency hearing to be held in . . . Um, a little more than two weeks from now."

He gaped at her. "What?"

"I suspect that Aiden has bribed a number of doctors and others to testify that I am not only incapable of running Poppa's company, but also my life." She leaned against the dining room table and watched him process the news. "Aiden is petitioning the court to be appointed my durable power of attorney in both finances and mental health, and as my guardian. As such, he would be able to regain control of the company, the monies that Poppa left me, and even go so far as to institutionalize me, if he chose to do so."

Dick stared at her in horror. He glanced down at the papers; reading them, but it only confirmed what she was saying.

"My God! He would seriously do this to you; his own sister?"

"Half-sister, as he is so fond of pointing out." Elle said. "But his plan would only work if I were alive."

Dick tossed the papers back onto the desk in disgust. "It could also be a red herring," he told her. "Something to throw the police off of his scent."

"You know, I accused him of that," Elle said, thoughtfully. "If this was just about the two of us, I think I would agree with you, but this is just as much about the company and his inheritance as anything. He wants Poppa's company. For him to get that, I must live. He can still get his jollies from tossing me into a padded cell and forgetting about me."

"We need to get married," Dick said suddenly.

Elle surprised him by smirking. "We _are_ married."

"_Officially_," he replied dryly. "The lie Bruce told to the hospital won't stand up in court. For that, we're going to need a marriage license."

Although she agreed that marrying was a good idea, Dick needed to understand that it wasn't a foolproof plan. She hated bursting his bubble like this.

"You do realize, that if the courts declare me incompetent, there's a good chance that they could annul the marriage."

Dick was immediately furious. "They can't do that!"

"Yes, they can. If I'm incapable of making my own decisions, how can I reasonably enter into a marriage contract? Worst case scenario: you would be brought up on charges for taking advantage of my weakened mental status for personal financial gain."

Dick hesitated, shocked, but then continued his tirade. "That's _ridiculous_! As Bruce's heir, I stand to inherit far more than you are worth, even with your father's company thrown in the mix!"

Elle bit her lip at the bitter irony she was about to point out to him. "True, but you don't _have_ any of that yet, and Bruce is still young and in excellent health, despite his . . . um, hobby. You're living arrangements showed you to be living in one of the worst hovels in the lower east side. Since you've began dating me, those living arrangements have improved dramatically."

"That was my choice," Dick ground out. "I didn't want to sponge off of Bruce's money! I wanted to be close to where the action is! Where I lived made perfect sense."

Elle wasn't impressed by his argument. "How many of your cop friends live as poorly as you do? . . . Did," she amended. "Close to the action? How is the judge supposed to interpret that? You are Dick Grayson now; not Nightwing. Where you lived made absolutely _no_ sense for any person coming from a privileged background.

"It made it look as though you and Bruce had a falling out. You could have even assumed that Bruce cut you out of the will," she concluded.

Dick stalked toward her; stopping only inches away. "You know that's not true! Elle, what are you trying to do?"

"I'm playing devil's advocate," she told him. "This is what the lawyers will bring up, and if you think about it, you would realize that. This will be their argument and it will make you look like a gold digger and an opportunist."

"Bruce will prove that wrong. He can tell the courts he never disinherited me, nor did he have plans to," Dick remarked. "Not only that, but I didn't know who you were when we first met."

"But you didn't necessarily _know_ that he wouldn't, and can you prove that you didn't know who I was at the time we met?" Elle spoke reasonably, tilting her head to look up at him. "You're looming again."

Dick loomed over her and growled, "I don't loom!"

A grin suddenly broke over her face and Elle laughed with delight. "Of course, you don't! I don't know what I was thinking!"

Dick pulled her into his arms; nestling his cheek into her hair. "I won't let him do this to you, Elle! I won't fail you again."

She shifted until she could look up at him; her face mere inches from his own.

"You've _never_ failed me," she declared. "Never! Not once."

He sighed. "Elle . . ."

She twisted to free her arms and brought her hands up to cup his face. "You have not failed me, Dick! You've_ saved_ me! I won't have you believing this lie."

His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. It was close, though.

"I love you," he whispered; lowering his face, but not quite touching her. That small bit of space was left for her to cross.

"As I love you," she declared hotly, and then she crossed it; her lips taking his in a searing kiss.

The passion was back, and he rejoiced.

* * *

"What are you doing," Elle asked as she walked into the living room. She was already dressed for bed in a pair of his flannel pajama bottoms rolled up and a mid-riff showing, white t-shirt.

Dick had just finished fiddling with the camera. It had somehow wound up behind the entertainment center again. Even Alfred had managed to miss it back there. He smirked. Considering the last video that he and Elle had made, that was probably a good thing. Alfred's manners were impeccable, but even he might have been curious enough to take a peek.

He probably should have erased the bit of video after Elle's last prank. He didn't relish anyone stumbling onto it and discovering Dick and Elle's debut as porn stars. But, it might be fun to watch some of the stuff they had on here. Their first date was always a favorite. Elle always laughed watching Dick dive into the lake after her. And they both loved Mook's induction into the family.

"Thought we could watch a movie tonight," he told her. "I made popcorn . . . Extra butter" He waved the bowl in front of her enticingly.

Elle smiled and grabbed the bowl; plopping herself on the couch. Dick sat beside her, propped his bare feet on the edge of the coffee table, and wrapped one arm around her as he clicked play with his free hand.

"Don't hog the popcorn this time," he warned.

She grinned and fed him a handful; laughing when half of it missed its mark and fell all over his shirt.

"Behave yourself," he mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn as the first video came up. The bouncing upside down view of the grass and trees. "Your camera skills sucked," he commented, after swallowing.

"I've improved," she bumped his shoulder, playfully.

"Only because you bought a tripod," he came back.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he nuzzled her neck as she squealed.

He settled back, content. This was what he wanted. Nothing serious . . . Just a bit of normal. Elle laughing as they teased and bantered back and forth; enjoying memories of a carefree time when they were first getting to know one another.

They were both rolling on the floor when the video came up showing Elle dancing and shrieking on the bed after Dick had inadvertently thrown Mook onto her. Then the spider had ran across his foot and it was Dick's turn to dance and yell.

"You screamed like a girl," Elle laughed.

"I screamed like a guy who just had a big, hairy Chihuahua run across his bare foot," Dick countered with a grin.

They threw popcorn at one another as they listened to things crashing in the background and every so often one of them ran past the camera holding a colander out in front of them.

"Who knew tarantulas could run that fast," she commented.

"Who knew they could _jump_!" Dick shuddered dramatically.

Elle grinned at him. "_You_ do now."

"True that," he admitted.

Elle glanced at the terrarium. "We should have moved Mook over to the coffee table so he could watch the video with us."

Dick stared at her like she grew a second head. "You're kidding, right?"

But the scene changed, and Mook was caught. On the television, Dick and Elle reappeared in front of the camera; laughing, out of breath, and feeling frisky.

"Okay," she shrugged, blushing. "Maybe not. He might not be old enough to watch this part."

They snuggled; only half their attention on what was happening on the screen as they made out on the sofa. They were getting ready to head back into the bedroom as the screen went black, so that when it flickered back to life at the beginning of yet another video, neither was prepared.

Dick turned his head as he watched a close up of Elle on the screen. She adjusted the angle of the camera. He could see the living room behind her.

"What's this? I don't remember this," he said.

"Hm?" Elle hummed against his neck, distracted. She turned her head to look just as the image of herself shushed the camera.

"I'm about to tell Dick he's going to be a daddy! Don't give it away," the television image of Elle whispered to the camera. Someone was knocking on the door in the background.

Dick eyes widened, stunned. Elle froze as she remembered suddenly setting the video camera up right before the hitman burst into the apartment.

He sat up straight and dove for the remote; fumbling it as he hit rewind.

"_What_?! What was that? What did you just say?!"

Elle snapped out of her shock and grabbed at the remote. "_Nooo_," she moaned. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Dick jerked the remote out of her reach; gaping at her and then at the screen. "What the hell? Did you just say . . .?"

Pure panic consumed her and she lunged across him in an effort to steal the remote away from him. "No, don't! Oh God, stop! Don't do this!"

"Elle, _stop_!" Dick held her off and hit play again.

Her face reappeared on the screen. A huge, excited grin on her face as she set up the camera's angle. "Sh," she hushed the camera.

Elle leapt over the coffee table, and tried to turn the TV off manually. "_No_! No, no, stop! Turn it off," she yelled, hitting the button. The picture flickered to black.

She started fumbling for the camera itself; desperate to yank out and destroy the sim card, even if it meant losing the other videos forever. Dick caught her hands! His face was serious now and determined as he pulled her away from the entertainment center.

"What the hell . . ." He had rewound the video again and flipped the television back on. "Elle, stop it! What are you doing?"

The previous video was fading to black as he fought Elle over the remote again. He managed to hit play by holding the remote over her head, and Elle's picture reappeared on the screen for a third time.

In reality, Elle tried to reach the television again, but Dick pulled her back. She clapped her hands over his ears to prevent him from hearing. She tried to pull his face around; away from the screen. She was crying now; becoming hysterical, but this was too important . . . What he thought he heard her say . . .

"_No_," she cried. "No, no, Stop! _Pleeease_ . . ." she drew the word out. "Please don't! Please don't! Don't do this! Please, don't do this!"

Dick jerked his face away from her grip, and held Elle by her upper arms. Her upset was becoming alarming, but he had to know . . . He _needed_ to know what she had . . .

"Sh," the recorded Elle said for the fourth time. "I'm about to tell Dick he's going to be a daddy! Don't give it away!"

He blinked. That's what he had thought she had said . . . But Dick had little time to process his shock as Elle collapsed onto her knees; sobbing uncontrollably. He dropped to his knees beside her; pulling her into his arms, he cradled her close.

"No, no, no, no, no . . ." her words were barely coherent. "_You're not supposed to know_," she cried out. "You weren't supposed to find out!"

In the background, Elle on the video was saying "You're home early." Then the crashing noise that immediately followed brought his attention swiveling up towards the television again.

"_Oh, my God_," he choked, horrified. "This is . . . Y-You recorded the _attack_?"

Elle clamped her hands over her ears and bent over in an effort to block it out as she wept with bitter intensity. Dick's mouth hung open, and his stunned gaze remained riveted on the action being played out in front of him.

He watched as Elle tried to get away only to fall when her attacker caught her by the ankle. He flinched at the sound of her hitting the floor. She came up like a pro, just as he had taught her, but before she could run away the bastard tackled her. The furniture covered part of the view, but it hid nothing. He could see that she had attempted to use the lamp as a weapon only to have it taken away from her.

It was only after he watched the assassin punch her in the face repeatedly that he couldn't stand it anymore and turned away. He tucked his face into Elle's shoulder as he felt around blindly for the blasted remote, but his hand couldn't locate it. He had dropped it at some point.

Elle's recorded scream had him looking back up just in time to see her being flung into the demolished side table. There was the source of that bloodied handprint he had glimpsed from the hall later that night. He thought he was going to be sick.

In front of him, Elle was moaning and crying; covering her ears in an effort to block out the sounds that haunted her nightmares. Dick seemed to come to his senses then, and gathered her up into his arms; careful to turn her face away from the television. He helped her cover her ear, placing his hand over hers, and pressed her head against his chest. He stared over her head, an unwilling witness to the horror of that night. Tears dripped off of his chin into her hair.

He needed to turn the damned thing off, but couldn't without letting Elle go. He wanted to take her out of the room, but he wasn't sure he could find the strength to stand himself, let alone carry her as he knew he would have to. So, he just held her; shielding her from reliving that hell as best he could as he forced himself to watch the rest of it. And when the video image was blocked when Elle had shoved it behind the entertainment center, he continued to listen; imagining what was happening from the sounds still emanating from the recording.

Eventually the noises stopped when the assassin was forced to flee the apartment with an unconscious Elle.

He don't know how long they sat there on the living room floor, holding one another and crying in each other's arms. It was only then that he found the strength to finally look for the fallen remote and shut the video off.

That was why he had gotten a busy signal that night, he thought numbly. She had been on the phone with 911.

Then it hit him . . . _The baby_ . . .

"The baby," he choked out the question, but he knew.

He _knew_.

And suddenly everything . . . Elle's emotions; Bruce's reluctance to share this; all of it . . . made the worst kind of sense now.

"I-I lost it." She finally answered him; her hysteria had run its course and she sounded as numb as he felt. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

His mind, full of the night's revelations, didn't hear it until her voice rose.

"I'm sorry, Dick! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Sh," he hushed her.

"But it's my _fault_," Elle burst out. "I should have paid more attention. I should have tried harder. I should have practiced longer . . ."

"What?" He wasn't sure he was following her train of thought. "What are you talking about?"

"If I would have worked harder; listened better; practiced more . . ." Her bottom lip quivered. "I could have stopped this somehow; stopped _him_!"

"Ah . . . No, Elle. Don't do this to yourself," Dick soothed.

She was shaking her head as she pushed away. There was pain, anguish, and desperation all there in her face; her eyes.

"If I hadn't acted like some kind of _fucking diva_ and took what you and Bruce were trying to teach me seriously, I could have saved you from being shot! I could have . . . I should have saved our _b-baby_!" She shoved her hands through her hair as she hunched over; pulling at it in her rage at herself. "This is my fault," she cried again. "This _all_ my fault!"

Startled, Dick jerked her into his embrace.

"Sh," he crooned into her hair. "This isn't your fault! _None of this_ _is your fault_! Do you hear me, baby?"

"I'm sorry," she wept into his neck. "I should have been able to protect it. I'm so sorry!"

"No! Elle, listen to me," he pulled away and cupped her face in his hands; forcing her to look at him. "There was nothing you could have done, baby. That guy was a professional. Nothing that Bruce and I showed you could have stopped him. Do you hear me? He does this shit for a fucking living! You didn't stand a chance against him! This isn't your fault!"

Her eyes searched his for the truth. Her face crumpled after a few seconds, but he thought she finally understood. He pulled her back into his arms; rocking them slowly back and forth there on the living room floor.

_God_! Was this what she had been going through all this time by herself? Why didn't she tell him? His mind thought back to his conversation with Bruce and remembered him saying that Elle had been trying to protect him . . . But from _this_? It finally made sense of everything he had been getting from her, but he had had no idea the depths of it. How had she been able to hide so much of it from him?

Protecting him . . . When she should have been turning to him!

They were a couple now.

Bondmates . . .

Two souls caught up and bound together for eternity.

Why did it have to be so hard?

But then wasn't everything worth having hard? It was the struggle that gave something its importance. That struggle to obtain and hold onto a treasure that gave it value.

His arms tightened around her.

She had value . . . _This_ had value!

And he was going to hold onto it with both hands!

* * *

Hours later, Dick lay awake in their bed. Elle had finally depleted what he had started to believe was a limitless supply of tears and fallen into an exhausted, but peaceful sleep. His fingers played idly with silky strands of her hair as he counted her breaths instead of sheep.

Today hadn't been an easy day. Truthfully, it was nearly as traumatic as the night of the attack. His thoughts were tangled and he struggled to organize them, but they flitted in and out of his head like it was a game of tag.

A baby . . . He had been a father for the briefest time and hadn't even known about it. The thought of that precious life being snuffed out so quickly tore a jagged hole in his heart. Elle admitted to only just learning about the child herself, and look what its loss had done to her. He comforted himself with the reminder that there would be others; each one just as precious as this one . . . The one he never had the chance to know.

A single tear slid from his eye and into his hairline at his temple.

As much as he looked forward to those future children, the loss of this one frightened him. He knew he would be a protective father. He would probably drive them just as crazy as Bruce had him while he had grown up in the manor.

Amazingly enough, however, this pain soothed another . . . Or rather several other long-forgotten pains.

He finally understood Bruce a little better now. Some of those things that had driven a wedge between them as Dick had sought his independence and Bruce had sought only to protect him; to wrap him in cotton . . . Those things no longer angered him. Bruce hadn't been his father in the legal sense during that time, but in his heart? By this time, Bruce had been Dick's father for far longer than John Grayson had. And that place in Dick's heart that Bruce alone held had long ago equaled that place his parents held . . . and if he were honest with himself, had long ago surpassed it.

And the guilt he had harbored over that fact suddenly melted away.

Bruce may not be able to utter the words easily, although at least now he could, his actions declared his love as loudly as any words could.

And as usual another thought intruded . . .

Aiden Hamilton.

Dick couldn't remember if he had ever hated someone to the extent as he did Elle's brother. Elle's arguments had all but convinced him of Aiden's innocence in the hiring of the nameless assassin, but the man still sought to destroy his sister's life.

Tomorrow he and Elle would sit down and go over their options. Maybe he could get Bruce and Leslie's opinion on what actions they could take to counter this move. He knew that Elle hadn't been ignoring the situation. She had told him as much. She had made several appointments with a number of leading psychiatrists from not only Gotham City, but was paying to fly in doctors from New York, Texas, and California.

And then there was still the problem of who had wanted Elle dead so badly that they had hired a top-notch assassin. Whatever else he was, Nameless wasn't cheap. He was also impossible to break. Not a clue had been gleaned as to the hitman's employer so far.

Of course, he hadn't been exactly in the mood to chat either. The results of Elle's impulsive actions that night had left the man a cripple; his right arm useless, the doctors had chosen to amputate it. The nerve damage to his left hand had left it with limited mobility. His days as a world-class assassin had been brought to the end.

But the discovery of the video would see to it that the bastard never breathed the free air again.

Elle sighed and snuggled against him; drawing Dick out of his revelry. All the tension of the past week had fled with her secrets. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes; praying that the video wouldn't haunt his dreams.

But Elle's warmth was a powerful guard against the nightmares. Now, if he could just do the same for her. He curled around her and allowed the darkness to finally drag him under.

* * *

**REACTIONS? **

**Let the healing begin . . . **

**Really, what were your thoughts and emotions going through this with Dick and Elle? **

**And where are all those guest reviews? I miss you guys! I do read your reviews and take your suggestions into consideration. (Heck, I had one come close to guessing a plot point near the very beginning of this story that comes into play in the sequel! I hope she continues to read the story for that reason alone - I think she will recognize it when it happens.) Keep check my profile page. I will sometimes answer a question there that I may not want to answer in the story in case it blows open the plot. If I don't answer something - it means you probably got something right, and I don't want to give it away.**

**As best as I can tell - One more chapter! And watch for the sequel . . . "Second Chances" that will take over from here.**


	100. Welcome Home

_**(*For those of you just checking in because I added a "new" chapter, the chapter in question is the companion story "In The News" which I just added to "Last Chance". You'll find it as "Chapter 59: Tabloid Speculations". If you've never read it, take the opportunity to do so now.*)**_

**Here it is . . . The final chapter of "Last Chance" and the transitional chapter that will lead you into the sequel! If you've never reviewed before, consider leaving one now. You've followed this story for 100 chapters and read close to 340,000 words. Tell me what you thought of the chapter, if you will, but _mostly what you thought of the story as a whole_. **

**WARNING: Language (I honestly can't remember, but something might pop up) . . .**

* * *

Dick was helping Elle with the breakfast dishes which meant that it took twice as long to accomplish than if she just did them by herself. Elle was sporting soap bubbles on her nose and Dick had some in his hair, but it was worth the extra time for all the fun they had.

Elle had spent all of the previous day going to appointment after appointment, meeting with numerous psychiatrists, and allowing them to evaluate her. She had come home tired and grumpy. Bruce had been appalled on her behalf when Dick had called him to give him a head's up, and had promptly given out the name of the law firm that Wayne Enterprises had on retainer. The firm was large enough that they had several branches of specialties of law, and one of the partners had agreed to find several of their best lawyers in each field to review the case and represent Elle if she agreed.

Things were on a roll now, but Dick couldn't help but worry a little. They had only two weeks left before the scheduled court date. The new lawyers were scrambling to see if they could get the case moved to Gotham City rather than Chicago. There was a less likely chance of Aiden being able to bribe the judge in time if the judge in question was appointed at the last minute.

So, when he picked up his cell to see Bruce's number, Dick thought it was the competency hearing that he was calling about.

"Hey, what's up?"

Instead of getting a lecture on phone etiquette, Bruce came right to the point.

"Get packed. I'll be there with Alfred and the boys in an hour to pick you both up," Bruce said, sharply.

Dick blinked. "What? Where are we going and why?"

"You're moving to Gotham City . . . today."

"Really . . . And the why?" Dick reminded him. Bruce had tried several times to get Dick to move back to Gotham and the manor, but he liked having his own city, liked the police force, and liked doing things his own way.

"Nameless escaped police custody sometime last night," he said, succinctly.

"What?" Dick moved through the apartment toward the bedroom for privacy. He didn't want to alarm Elle unnecessarily, but unfortunately this could definitely become necessary. He lowered his voice. "But . . . How? He was still in the hospital the last I checked, and there were guards posted at his door."

"The guard was discovered dead this morning; propped in the chair by the door like he was dozing," Bruce told him.

"That guy was in no shape to kill an armed police officer," Dick charged. He heard a car door slamming and an engine turn over. Tim and Damian's voices floated over the line.

"And you'd be right. He wasn't scheduled to be released from the hospital and remanded into police custody for another four days. He had help." Bruce's voice was grim.

"And you think he would come here?"

"I think he was paid a lot of money to do a job, and it has yet to be accomplished. I also think that he'll be looking for vengeance. He lost his career to Elle's actions." Bruce sighed. "I know that he doesn't appear to be a threat himself at the moment, but the man has colleagues that he's willing to do business with. How much would he be willing to pay to have the job completed and his vengeance against her secure? _Someone_ killed that cop."

Dick felt a twinge in his chest at the death of a fellow police officer. He wondered if it were someone he knew; he knew most of them. But the urgency of the matter at hand quickly brought him back on topic. If it were only him, he would tell Bruce not to bother, but Elle had had enough of violence to last a lifetime. The likelihood that she would survive another encounter with a hired hitman was so small as to be non-existent.

He couldn't risk her life for his pride. Even the idea of it made him nauseous. He remembered finding her at the bottom of the ravine . . . The fear that he had at the time that she might still die of her injuries had terrified him. The idea that there could be someone else out there gunning for her now made his stomach drop.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, we'll be ready. How long do you think we'll need to stay?"

Dick would need to commute to Bludhaven every day if they were still in Gotham at the end of his leave. There was the court hearing he would need to attend. He would bring a few uniforms and a couple of suits . . . Just in case.

"At this point? I think we should consider something long-term," Bruce told him. He quickly added in an effort to forestall an argument, "We have no idea who the man behind the contract is; our best shot at obtaining that information has just escaped with professional help; and we can assume that Nameless will have a personal vendetta against her, and probably you as well."

Dick sighed. "Four, maybe six months, then?"

"At least." Bruce said. "You can choose to commute to Bludhaven if you want, but I'd prefer to have you close by, and not just for Elle's sake."

Dick blinked and sat down on the bed. "What are you suggesting? That I quit the force?" Anger flared. Bruce had hated the idea of him becoming a cop from the very beginning, and had tried on numerous occasions to get him to quit and come home.

"Are you taking advantage of the situation just to drag me back to Gotham and leave BPD?"

"Of course not! But there is more to consider now than what you want," Bruce snapped. "I was going to suggest that you join the force here in Gotham City if you still wanted to become a cop. If Elle needed you, at least you could spare yourself an hour long commute to reach her."

Dick swallowed his response. Elle . . . He needed to consider Elle. He just hadn't expected this.

"Fine. I'll consider it. I still have six weeks left of leave before I have to decide. Perhaps we can figure all this out in the meantime with a little concentrated effort." His mind began to whirl with all the decisions that remained. "What do we do with the apartment? Sub-let?"

"I would consider letting it go. I can pay off your lease for you, and you two can search for something new later, after this is over." Bruce said.

Dick shook his head, even though Bruce wouldn't see it through the phone line. "It's under Elle's name. And you don't have to do that. She has more than enough funds to cover her leasing agreement and any penalties she might incur. You forget; I'm engaged to a rich woman now."

"Get started packing. I can arrange for your furniture to be put into storage in the meantime."

"I can do that," Dick protested.

"You will be busy. Let me help in this at least," Bruce said.

Elle came in just then, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She stopped at the door and leaned against frame; watching him with concern. His heart clenched as her worry washed over him. She didn't need this kind of stress. Better to make it as easy as possible.

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay. An hour isn't a lot of time, but we'll try to be ready when you get here. We may need to make another trip in case we forget something, so give it a week before you make those arrangements."

"Good," Bruce sounded mildly surprised; like he was expecting more of an argument.

"See you when you get here," Dick said before ending the call. He looked up at Elle.

"So, where are we going on such short notice?"

Dick stood up and walked over to her. He rubbed his hands along her upper arms.

"To Gotham," he told her. "We're going to be staying at the manor for a while."

"You mean for the weekend," Elle asked him. She knew something was up.

"I mean for the next several months."

Her eyes widened. "What? But why?"

He smiled. He wondered if it reached his eyes or not. Probably not because she was looking at him with suspicion now. "I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Things aren't as comfortable here, what with memories . . . and . . . um, everything."

She frowned and leaned back. "You mean since the attack?"

"I was thinking that you might not want to stay here anymore," Dick explained. "We can stay with Bruce while we look for another place."

She stared at him for a moment. "But that makes no sense. You and I both work here in Bludhaven. Why not just stay here until we find someplace new? I'm not such a wimp that I can't live here for a few more weeks."

"You're not a wimp," he declared, but instead of answering her, Dick walked around her to the extra room where she kept her suitcases and he had a couple of duffle bags. She backed out of his way when he dragged them in and tossed the lot of them on the bed.

"Look, we can talk about it later," he said, not looking at her. "In Gotham. Once we get to the manor."

She pulled him around by his arm. "What is going on?"

He tugged her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "You know I love you, right?"

She snuggled against his chest; enjoying being held although he was scaring her a little bit. "I think we have established that."

"Then will you just trust me in this? We need to go, and we need to take everything with us we will need for the next several days," he said. "We can come back for the rest."

She hesitated.

"Please, Elle? We're kind of pressed for time here. I promise to explain later, but I don't want to use a lot of time up that we'll need to pack."

She pushed away from him with a sigh. "An hour isn't a lot of time," she said. "We better hurry."

He smiled and blew out the breath he had been holding; relieved that she didn't argue with him.

* * *

Dick flipped over the couch in order to hit the intercom by the door. Elle came rushing into the living room in her socked feet and slid on the hardwood floor. Her feet went out from under her and she landed on her butt with a muffled thump.

Dick glanced back at her as he approved Bruce and the family's arrival with the building security.

"Are you alright?" He darted over to give her a hand up.

Elle looked at him, annoyed. "I don't get how you can get away with those crazy acrobatics of yours and I can't run into a room without falling on my ass!"

Dick grinned, reassured that she wasn't hurt. "I'm not wearing socks. That stunt would have busted my ass if I had been," he explained.

She noted his bare feet. "I packed most of your socks. If you don't want to leave barefooted, I would suggest you go dig out a pair now."

They separated as he went after his socks and Elle picked up a box to stuff all over her important papers and files in. She made certain to keep everything pertaining to her father's will and to the competency hearing on top. She was just placing the lid on the top of it when she heard the knock on the door and froze.

Dick came in, slipping and sliding a bit on socked feet. "That's Bruce! Why didn't you open the door?"

Elle blinked and seemed to shake herself. "Uh, sorry." Color infused her pale face. "Flashback."

Dick glanced over at her as he pulled the door open. "You okay?"

She flashed him a smile. "Fine," she assured him as she moved around the furniture to greet Damian, who shoved through under Bruce's arm. "Hey, buddy! Good to see you!" She pulled the boy into a big hug before he could avoid it.

Dick turned to greet the rest of them in order to hide his grin. No matter what Damian claimed; it was obvious that he enjoyed her attention.

"Come on in," he said. "We're still gathering some things together, but we'll be done soon."

It was everyone's first time in the apartment with the exception of Alfred. Although Bruce had been here before, he hadn't actually entered the apartment itself.

Alfred stepped up to Elle. "How might I be of assistance, Miss Arabella?"

"Oh, but you're a guest," Elle told him. "May I get anyone a drink?"

Dick laughed and tugged her back to the bedroom. "They aren't here to socialize, sweetheart, but to help us move."

"That's no reason to be inhospitable," she complained.

"We're fine, Elle," Bruce reassured her. "Is there something we can start moving down to the car?"

Dick reappeared a moment later with three suitcases and a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He handed them to Bruce and Tim. Elle came out with a couple of garment bags and an overnight case of which Alfred divested her.

"What can I take," Damian asked.

"Oh, here," Elle picks up the box of documents. "Will this be too heavy?"

Damian scoffed, snatching the box out of her hands. "I'm strong enough," he declared.

Elle smiled. "You certainly are. Those are very important. I trust you to not lose anything in there."

As Damian trotted back to the elevator, Dick came up behind her. "He's beaming! Only you can get him to loosen up that way."

"He just wants to feel included and trusted, just like anyone else," she told him. "What am I going to do with all the food in the refrigerator?"

"I don't know," Dick admitted. "Maybe Claudia can take it off of your hands? We'll be coming back in a couple of days for everything else. It should be okay til then."

She made a face; not liking what she heard, but not seeing another choice.

"Maybe Alfred could pack up a few of the perishables that would survive an hour in the car," Dick suggested.

"I'll go do it," she said, and rushed into the kitchen.

Dick followed her in. "He came to help, you know. It's kind of what he does."

"He does it for everyone," she complained, pulling out some paper bags she had stored under the counter. "I don't want him waiting on me. He has enough to do already."

"Bruce pays very well, and Alfred is good at his job," Dick reassured her. "He takes a certain pride in it."

Elle stopped and sighed. "You still want to marry me, don't you?"

He frowned and moved closer; sliding his arms around her waist. "Of course, why would you even ask that?"

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. "I want to be your _wife_," she said with a pout. "_**I**_ want to take care of you, not Alfred. Will you still not tell me why we need to go to Gotham City on such short notice?"

Instead of answering her, Dick drew her into a hug. Resting his cheek on her head, he rocked them both for a minute. "Later," he promised. "I'll tell you later."

And he would, too. It was too dangerous for Elle not to be told. She needed to be aware, but right now she was surrounded by Batman, Red Robin, Robin, and Nightwing. And Dick knew very well that Alfred was not to be underestimated. She could have another hour or two of peace before he needed to tell her what was happening and why they needed to make such a drastic move.

Sounds of running alerted them to the return of Damian and Tim. Dick grinned. The two were getting along much better, Bruce had told him. While the boys had bickered some, nothing had deteriorated into the physical since Christmas.

"Anything else you need help with," Tim asked, grinning.

Dick glanced around the apartment. "No, nothing else right now. Everything else can wait for later or be put into storage." He looked at Elle as she carried a couple of bags of fresh produce.

She set them on the table as Bruce and Alfred re-entered the apartment at a more sedate pace.

"Wait," she exclaimed. "We almost forgot Mook!"

Bruce frowned.

Dick slapped his forehead. "You're right," he said. "We can't go without Mook."

"Who's Mook," Bruce asked.

Elle moved between them and knelt in front of the terrarium. She waved a finger next to the glass and suddenly the tarantula climbed out from inside of his hollowed log. Tim looked startled.

"That's a tarantula," he yelped.

"That's Mook," she said. Mook waved its front legs in her direction. She glanced up at Bruce. "I'll let you carry him. I trust you not to drop him."

Bruce blinked and stood up straight from where he bent to look in the glass cage. "Uh," he stumbled over his words. He threw a look of desperation at Dick. "Dick's more than capable of carrying Mook," he said. "The spider might not like being carried by strange people."

"If I may remind you that Master Dick has recently gone through a rather invasive surgery just two weeks ago. It might be prudent if he didn't handle such heavy, bulky items. He could do himself some damage," Alfred pointed out. "Was that not the whole point in all of us showing up to help them move?"

"Damn it," Bruce muttered under his breath, but Dick heard him and laughed.

Damian moved in for a closer look at the tarantula as Elle lifted the top of the terrarium and allowed Mook to crawl onto her hand. Tim jumped back, alarmed. Even Alfred and Bruce took a step away as she turned around with the spider. She held her palm up and Mook raced up her arm and settled onto her shoulder.

"That's creepy," Tim announced.

Damian grinned. "That's cool!"

Dick laughed and slapped Tim on the shoulder. "That's creepy," he agreed.

As Alfred moved to pick up the grocery bags, Bruce picked up the terrarium. "Is that thing . . . um, Mook going to ride to Gotham in his terrarium?"

Elle was playing with the spider by wiggling her finger in front of it. It would extend its front legs to touch the finger, but didn't try to move from where it nestled on its perch.

"I think he can ride with us," she told him. "We're taking the Yugo, right?"

"Fine, but you have to keep him out from under the foot pedals." Dick warned her as he picked up his keys. "We'll follow you back, Bruce."

Tim watched her with an expression of vague horror on his face.

"I want to ride with Dick and Elle, Father," Damian said, hope beaming on his face.

Bruce nodded his agreement. "How about you, Tim? You want to ride with Alfred and I or with Dick and Elle?"

Damian scoffed. "He won't ride with us! He's scared of the spider."

Tim glared at him. "I am not," he declared, but it was a lukewarm declaration at best.

Elle smiled at the elder boy. "You can ride with us if you want, but you don't have to feel obligated if you don't want to, Tim. I'll understand."

"Yeah," Damian snorted, "she'll understand that you're scared of spiders."

Dick turned around, casually slapping the back of Damian's head as he did so, as if by accident. "Whoops! Sorry about that, little D," Dick smirked.

Tim smiled and shrugged. "I guess I can ride with you."

Dick and Elle exchanged looks. He didn't sound exactly enthused about it.

"If you're sure," Elle said.

Tim shrugged again and followed them out, glumly.

* * *

As they drove on the beltway that took them around Gotham's downtown district, Bruce looked in the passenger side mirror. He swiveled in his seat to look behind them.

"I don't see them, Alfred," Bruce told the older man.

"They did say that they would be following us," Alfred glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, they did," Bruce agreed. "But they're not there now." He searched the numerous lanes for the Yugo, but didn't see it. "I was checking for them every ten minutes or so. We should have followed them instead."

"Hindsight and all of that, sir, but we weren't anticipating that they would veer off unexpectedly."

Bruce pulled out his cell phone. "If they veered off voluntarily. Certainly we would have noticed if someone had run them off the road. Dick knows how to drive defensively. I doubt he would have been taken by surprise. I'm certain he would have laid on the horn if that were the case."

His phone buzzed before he could press speed dial. "It's from Tim." He answered. "Where are you?"

"Take it easy," Tim's voice came through. "We had to take a little detour. We should only be fifteen minutes or so behind you."

"_Where are you_," Bruce repeated the question in a growl.

"We had to make a pit stop for Mook. Elle says he needs food." Tim explained.

"You stopped by a pet store?" Bruce asked, frowning. He didn't remember a pet store being in this area. Most were found in Gotham suburbs than around here, near the docks.

"Actually, no," Tim admitted. "Dick says there is a fishing supply store nearby, but who'd want to eat any fish from Gotham's river? Ugh! Anyway, don't worry. We'll be there soon."

The call disconnected and Bruce put his phone away. The mention nudged the information in Bruce's mind. There was a fishing supply store near here, he remembered now.

"Mook is a tarantula, not a fish. I'm not sure what they expect to find at a fishing shop," he shook his head.

"I have a feeling that we will becoming more familiar with this unusual sense of dismay as time goes by," Alfred commented as he steered the Bentley into the correct lane for their approaching exit.

"Hm," was Bruce's only reply.

He had a feeling that the organization and dynamics of his home would be undergoing some disruption as Elle settled in. She was variable that he had not calculated into his equation. But there was no choice, and despite her penchant for being unpredictable, he had seen positive results from her inclusion into the family in a very short time.

And . . . the edges of Bruce's mouth tilted up ever so slightly . . . He liked her.

He had been telling Dick the truth about that. She was refreshingly honest and sincere in a world that was increasingly cynical and counterfeit. And for a woman who was entirely not typical; Elle was enticingly '_normal_'. Something that all of their lives had forever been lacking.

While Alfred's prediction was very likely; Bruce, oddly-enough, found himself rather looking forward to it.

* * *

Bruce and Alfred opened the front door as the Yugo pulled to a stop in front of the manor. He watched as his children poured from the vehicle with smiles and laughter. Even Damian appeared to be amused.

He looked for the tarantula as Elle exited the car as it was the reason for their late arrival, but didn't see it perched on her shoulder as it had been when they had left Bludhaven. Instead, she was carrying a Styrofoam container with a plastic lid. He glanced at Dick as he closed the driver's side door, but he, too, was empty handed. He watched as his eldest rounded the vehicle with Tim.

Bruce didn't even glance at Tim. It had been impossible not to notice the teen's discomfort around the large, hairy creature. In truth, Bruce had shared it, but years of hiding his emotions had downplayed his own sense of unease. It was the reason that the terrarium had been the first thing he had unloaded and set up upon arriving. Better to get the arachnid back into its home and safely contained.

It wasn't until Damian was approaching that he saw the spider perched on the boy's shoulder. He shouldn't be surprised. Damian had shown a fascination for the tarantula from the moment he had seen it. Bruce stepped back to give the boy room to enter into the foyer. No sense in alarming Elle's pet unnecessarily.

"How was your trip," Alfred asked politely.

"Yes, did you run into any problems?" Bruce followed Dick and Elle through the front door.

Dick wore an odd expression. "No problems, if you don't count a tarantula running loose in the car. I'm surprised you didn't notice my erratic driving when Mook began scrambling around my feet!"

Tim shook his head as he brushed past them. "I thought sure we were all going to die."

Dick ruffled the boy's hair as he passed. "I'm a better driver than that."

"Matter of opinion," Tim muttered as he ducked his brother's hand.

Elle smiled reassuringly. "It wasn't _that_ bad," she said. "And Damian caught him easily enough. Mook seems to like him."

Alfred looked at the pint-sized container curiously. "And what manner of food were you able to purchase for the . . . creature?"

Elle turned to face him as she walked. "Oh, his favorite! Mook is always happier when he gets to hunt his food," she explained.

Suddenly, Elle tripped and stumbled forward. Before anyone could move she fell flat and the Styrofoam container flew from her hands. It hit the floor several feet beyond her and the lid flew off and its contents scattered in all directions . . . And immediately began hopping and jumping towards freedom.

"Elle!" Dick yelped as he hurried to help her, but she was already scrambling to her knees.

"Oh no!" She shrieked. "_**The crickets**_! _Catch the crickets_!"

Tim darted forward to help only to step on one of the insects with a disgusting crunch.

"Don't step on them," she cried out, picking up the container and trying to scoop a handful of the crickets back in. Most of them quickly leaped over her hand, however.

"_HEY_!" Damian yelled.

Bruce stared as Mook, apparently seeing a smorgasbord in front of him, jumped - _Jumped!_ \- off of the boy's shoulder and into the fray. He blinked at the speed that the spider displayed.

Dick veered off of his cricket-rounding duty to dart after the fleeing tarantula. "Mook! Get back here," he called, as if expecting the spider to heed his orders. "Alfred, get a colander!"

The startled butler was pulled out of his dismay, and responded in horror. "Good heavens! I should say _not_! I will not have that filthy creature being captured with one of my cooking utensils!" He said as he turned to rush out of the room.

"Alfred! Where are you going," Bruce asked of his butler's retreating back.

"He's probably going to pack," Tim replied, holding a dozen chirping crickets in his cupped hands. He had several that had leapt onto his head and shoulders.

"I'm going to get the vacuum cleaner," the elder man called back over his shoulder.

Elle looked up, startled, from where she kneeled still trying vainly to catch the fleeing insects. "That won't kill them, will it?"

"You were planning to feed them to the tarantula," Bruce pointed out. "Are you really that concerned about them?"

Elle blinked at him. "Oh, no," she said, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice; as if things like this happened every day. "It's just that Mook likes to eat them while they're still alive."

"Ew," Tim groaned as he tried to dump his crickets into the container. At least half of them escaped.

Damian darted by. "Mook!"

"Careful, Damian," Dick called out. "Don't step on him by accident! I'm going to get that colander!"

"Alfred's going to kill you," Tim warned as he continued to attempt to catch the escaping crickets.

"I'll buy him a new one," Dick called back before disappearing around the corner.

Dick passed Alfred; the elder man dragging the wet/dry vac behind him. "I say, Miss Arabella, I think we'll just have to allow these crickets their freedom once we have captured them. I cannot think how we will be able to transfer them from the vacuum to your container without them simply escaping once again."

Several crickets dangled from her hair. "But Mook . . ."

"We'll simply have to send out Master Timothy to obtain more from that fishing shop," he said reasonably. "Although it might be better to consider another food source for your . . . pet."

"Are you going to release them into the grounds, Alfred?" Tim asked.

"I should say not! This many would likely destroy the gardens," Alfred declared, plugging the vacuum into the wall socket. As soon as he turned the machine on, the crickets scattered in all directions; many taking to the air and disappearing upstairs and deeper into the house.

Mook jumped suddenly onto Tim's hand, obviously attracted to the crickets he was covered in. The teen yelped and leapt to his feet and the tarantula jumped in alarm towards Elle. Surprised, she dropped the container again, and the few crickets they had managed to capture joined their comrades in flight.

Dick ran back into the room and stopped to stare at the chaos; the colander dangling forgotten in his hand.

Bruce still remained where he stood when all of this began, and remembered Alfred's prediction. Dismay seemed like such an understatement. He began to chuckle.

Damian stopped to stare at him. His son was wearing several crickets as he gaped. Bruce covered his mouth, but his laughter increased.

"What's wrong, Father?" Damian looked shocked.

Tim turned to stare and then Dick noticed.

"Are you alright," Tim asked.

Alfred turned the vacuum off to look in his direction. Everyone, including his very proper, very stoic, very polished English butler, were wearing crickets. The chirping was a cacophony. They might never get the crickets out of the manor after this. He imagined the manor, a hundred years from now, still chirping.

His family's expressions, however, were priceless! Bruce could only laugh harder. He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes and met the embarrassed gaze of his future daughter-in-law. Had he once called her _normal_? If nothing else, life around the manor would be anything but boring! In fact, his time as the Batman might turn into something of a sabbatical from what his home life was promising to become.

"Welcome home, Elle," Bruce told her, once he caught his breath. "Welcome home!"

* * *

**REACTIONS? Don't forget to review and Fave! Please let me know what you thought!**

**Elle's living at the manor! What could go wrong? Welcome to the first day . . . LOL!**

**"_Second Chances_" will be following along in a few weeks, and I promise that it will be just as intense and detailed as this one; full of fun and laughter and surprises, and a few dark spots. We'll be seeing a lot more of Jason in this one, and several cameo appearances by super acquaintances! And there will even be the long-awaited wedding! It will answer most, if not all, of your questions from this story, and bring about resolution. BUT the sequel will not even be the end. I have plot enough for even a third story! ;D**

**See you soon!**


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